


Headline

by Cristinuke



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, But there isn't actually a serum, Canon Disabled Character, Drinking, Drunkenness, Enemies to Lovers, Frottage, Gen, Hand Jobs, He's just really big, Idiots in Love, M/M, Phantom pain, Photographer!Bucky, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, References to Depression, Reporter!Steve, so many puns, take that how you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-06 10:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: When a National Geographic photographer loses his arm in lava, and remains cryptic about the circumstances, the reporter in Steve becomes rather interested. Trying to get the scoop, however, turns out to be a bit harder than he'd imagined. Actually, a lot of things that happen with this so-called James "Bucky" Barnes is not at all what he'd imagined.





	1. Area Man Finds Himself In Exposition Part Of Story

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to say that I can't believe I'm finally here, posting this story! This has been a work in progress for just over a year now, and I'm so excited to finally be able to share it with everyone! I'm really happy with how this turned out, and I hope it brings some happiness to others as well. Fair bit of warning, I definitely had fun with sticking in as many puns as I could. #noregrets
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has listened to me rant/complain/bemoan/otherwise talk about this fic for the past year. This includes Nonymos who initially stoked my fire for this idea by throwing in some ridiculous thoughts that may or may not have ended up in the final product. Not only that, but she has cheerleaded me on from the beginning without even knowing the details of the story. I appreciates you!
> 
> I also want to thank Glenninator for not only being one of the best ears I could talk off, but for helping me to do things I couldn't do and for creating beautiful art for this story. He helped me with photoshop, HTML programming, and various little nuggets of inspiration that only helped flesh out this story in the best of ways. He was also one of the best cheerleaders an author could ask for, even when I kept him in the dark sometimes! Thank you for being such an amazing trooper!
> 
> And finally, I want to thank bbyarn for her incredible editing skills and intimate knowledge of all things New York. While still on my top list of places I want to visit, my understanding of New York is limited at best, so having someone able to shush my BS and provide actual, real information, was sooooo helpful. Thank you for your endless patience!!!
> 
> Thank you to professorcapybara over on tumblr, whose fever-induced [post](http://professorcapybara.tumblr.com/post/150099839633/man-who-lost-arm-by-plunging-it-into-lava-smugly) is literally the reason I wrote this.
> 
> Chapters will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays :D Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing in advance for all the inaccuracies regarding working at Buzzfeed.

‘Man Who Lost Arm By Plunging It Into Lava Smugly Refuses To Describe What Lava Feels Like’

“You have got to let it go, man.” Sam said, shaking his head as he read the headline over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve quickly reached forward and snapped his laptop closed. “What? It’s a perfectly good headline.” He defended a little too quickly. Sam simply raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Sure, for a story. But you don’t have a story, Rogers.” Sam pointed out while picking up a pen from Steve’s desk and twirling it.

“That’s because the asshole won’t talk to me!” Steve protested hotly. His main story kept refusing his phone calls and ignoring his emails, thus landing Steve with a whole big pile of nothing substantial to write about. Not even a tiny soundbite.

“Did you ever wonder maybe— and just hear me out here— maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you because he literally lost his arm in lava? I don’t know why you’re so obsessed over this guy.”

Steve sighed and slumped in his chair. “I dunno. I just know there’s a story here, and I want to be the one to tell it.”

“Man, must suck having to actually do the actual news. Headline like that, you would do well with our other feeds.”

“What, like LOL and WTF? No thanks. Go have fun in your FAIL articles.”

“Sure, I’ll just write one about your current failure to do your job.”

Sam kept twirling the pen in front of Steve’s face until Steve had had enough and swiped at him, causing the pen to go flying across the computers.

“Dude, not cool.” Sam groused before he stuck his tongue out. Steve rolled his eyes. Scott, one of their co-workers who sat at the terminal across from Steve’s, picked up the pen that had landed on his desktop and threw it back over at them. Steve caught it and gave an apologetic wave, to which Scott gave a thumbs-up and went back to staring at his screen.

“Don’t you have an actual article to do?” Steve grumbled as he began to fiddle around with the same pen. After a moment, he gave up and stuck it between his laptop and desktop monitor and laid his head on top of his laptop.

Sam watched, amused. “Sure I do. And I finished it, because I’m a grown man who meets his deadlines.”

Steve tucked his arms under his face and mumbled, “Yeah? And what was your story?”

“‘Why Birds Fall Off Their Perches During Sex.’ The answer will surprise you.” Sam deadpanned and Steve resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. “I think it’s going to be a real people pleaser,” Sam continued, ignoring his friend’s existential crisis, “better than ‘15 Ways To Tell If Your Dog Is The KGB,’ but that’s just my humble opinion.”

“Can’t wait to see that folo.” Steve muttered into his folded arms. Sam laughed and started walking away towards his own terminal.

“Hey, at least I know I work at Buzzfeed. You’re the one that came from a respectable publisher’s office.” He called over his shoulder.

Steve lifted his head up to yell, “Knew I should’ve gone to The Onion!”

“Well, that just hurts my feelings,” came a new voice, and Steve scrambled to his feet. Tony Stark was leaning against the desk behind him, and judging by the faint snickering coming from where Sam had disappeared to, he’d been there for a while.

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry, I just meant—” Steve started babbling, but he was cut off.

“Alright, first off, it’s Tony. You know that. And second of all, The Onion pays better, so you probably would’ve been better off there.” Tony said with a smirk. Steve studiously ignored the couple of people in the surrounding terminals that had perked up to watch a new episode of Schadenfreude.

“What I want to know is why I haven’t gotten an article from you in a few days. While I totally approve of procrastination and laziness, the fact is, you’re one of the actual hard workers that gets shit done, so I’m curious about what’s made you fall behind. Care to explain?”

Steve fought the urge to look down, refusing to be chastised. Instead, he straightened and locked eyes with his boss.

“Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when that National Geographic photographer fell into lava? Survived, but lost an arm?” At Tony’s impatient nod, Steve continued, “Well, I’ve been trying to get a hold of the guy for the whole story, but he’s proven to be a bit…elusive.”

Again, Steve fought the urge to fidget when Tony stared at him in silence.

Finally, Tony shifted his weight to one side and asked, “And you couldn’t have found another piece of news to write about?”

“I could…” Steve hedged, “But I really feel like this would be a good story for us. Tony, I don’t care if I have to fly out to Hawai’i out of my own pocket just to meet this guy face-to-face, I’m going to make him talk to me.” Steve declared, determined. His racing mind got the better of him before he could think about what he was saying, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back. He wanted to write this goddamn story.

“He’s not in Hawai’i anymore.” Tony replied distractedly.

That brought Steve up short. “I…What?”

Tony gave him a sly smirk, asking in a vaguely taunting tone, “You didn't actually think he lived in Hawai’i?”

Steve wanted to smack himself.

At his silence, Tony continued, “That’s some fine researching right there, Rogers. Which publication did you say you came from again? Whatever, ask Barton to reach his contact over at National. I’m sure the guy you’re trying to track is a little closer to this coast. You have until the end of the week.” And with that, he swaggered away, leaving Steve standing there, unnaturally flustered.

A snicker from his right made him turn to find Peter, the new intern, barely containing his mirth. Steve shook himself before rolling his eyes and flipping him off and not even feeling bad about it. It just made Peter snigger again before he put his giant headphones on.

Sitting heavily in his chair, Steve opened up his laptop and reread the single headline in his Word document, only to then minimize the program and rub his eyes.

After blinking away the stars, Steve saw the Images search he’d done before opening the Word document. This guy’s photography really was good; the photographs were spectacular, ranging from nature phenomena, to snapshots of various cultures and life. There were a few that played around with angles and contrasting subjects, like advanced technology mixed in with rural landscapes. One had monkeys in midflight, swinging from branch to branch, and somehow a family of sugar gliders happened to be jumping at the same time, the resulting image showing off an interesting mix of animals looking like they’re flying even though they can’t technically fly.

Steve’s favorite, though, was of an enormous full moon, bright and yellow and so detailed. The camera angle was stunning, however, as it was shot from a low angle to include a waterfall in some jungle. The final product combined the two to depict a wonderful visual illusion where it seemed like the full moon was a part of the waterfall, its stream rushing out of the moon itself.

The colors were extraordinary in every single picture. Steve wasn’t an expert in photography, but he knew damn well his color theory, and he’d never seen anyone handle it so naturally.

Opening up his Word document again, Steve hovered his fingers over the keyboard, fully intent on continuing writing. He was going to do it, he really was.

He was going to write.

Any second now, he was going to start.

Right…now.

He snapped his laptop closed again.

Steve let out a heavy sigh as he accepted his fate.

He stood up and stretched a bit, realizing that he’d been sitting down for the majority of the morning. To his surprise, a quick glance at the clock told him it was almost lunch time already. He figured he might as well go grab a cup of coffee and whatever weird flavor of Froyo they had this week to bring as an offering to Clint on the other side of the open-plan room. Sometimes Steve hated sitting so far away from Sam and Clint, but then there were days like these that Steve was grateful he didn’t have to deal with them in his face. He dealt with them enough on a regular basis.

Steve pushed his chair in and walked down towards the snack room, avoiding eye contact with anyone who may have overheard his and Tony’s conversation. When he reached the coffee machines, he grabbed a cup and filled it up three-quarters, then filled the rest of it with cream and sugar. Just committing the act of adding that much sweetness into the coffee made his teeth hurt, and he wondered for the thousandth time how any living person could stand to drink such a monstrosity. Coffee in one hand, Steve filled up another cup with Mango-Passion Froyo before calling it quits and taking the cups back to the floor.

He walked along the far wall, making his way between the computer desks and the weird pod seat things that people liked to sit in sometimes. Clint’s terminal was all the way at the end, right in front of the giant letters painted on the wall that proclaimed he was working at Buzzfeed, as if he didn’t know already.

“I need a favor.” Steve told the back of Clint’s head.

Clint startled, and then started ranting as he swiveled around in his chair, “You’re already interrupting my work and then you don’t even say ‘hey, how’s it going’? Way to just skip the foreplay and head straight into asking for— holy shit did you bring that for me?”

Steve grinned, watching Clint’s face morph from annoyance to something near worshipping ridiculously fast as he caught sight of what Steve was holding. Steve never understood Clint’s reactions because it wasn’t as if he couldn’t get up himself and go get the snacks. He supposed anyone that lazy would react that way.

“Both fresh. One scalding hot, the other uncomfortably cold.” Steve announced as he handed over the cups to Clint.

He held both cups weirdly close to his chest while leaning over to smell the coffee and at the same time licking the top of the Fro-Yo. “Just how I like it.”

Steve’s smile slipped into slight horror at what he was witnessing.

“Anyway…” Steve began, trying to think about why he’d come here in the first place. “I really do need a favor.”

Clint licked a dollop of Fro-Yo before taking a sip of his coffee, and Steve nearly threw up a little in his mouth. “What do you need, Rogers?”

“There’s a guy I’ve been trying to reach. Email, phone, work. Nothing. The guy won’t answer. He works at National Geographic, and Mr. Stark said that you might know someone over there that can reach him?”

Clint hummed as he tipped the Fro-Yo cup back and licked out another helping before chasing it down with coffee again. Steve was starting to regret his friendship again.

“Yeah, Nat goes back and forth there for freelance. I can give her a call and find out where your guy is. What’s his name?”

Clint set the cups down next to his computer before grabbing a pad and pen, clicking it once before realizing the pen had already been out, and having to click it again.

“He’s a photographer, James B. Barnes.”

Clint wrote the name down. “Hey, isn’t that the guy who broke his arm in lava a couple months ago?”

“He lost his arm, but yeah. Trying to figure out what the story is behind it. No one really knows what happened out there.”

Clint picked up both cups again, looking pensively at Steve. “Yeah, that would be interesting to find out. Nat won’t tell me about it.”

“She was there?” Steve asked, surprised by the news.

“Apparently. But like I said, she doesn’t really talk about her work, so I don’t know what she saw or didn’t see. And she’s not even in the country right now so it’s not like you can ask her in person.”

“What about phone? That’s how you’re getting a hold of her, right?”

Clint snorted, “Yeah, trust me when I say she’ll have my balls if I give her number away, especially to a reporter. I’ll let you know if I get anything on the Barnes guy, though.”

“Okay, Thanks.”

Clint attempted to wave him off with both hands full, “Don’t mention it.” And with that, he swiveled back around to his computer, leaving Steve standing there awkwardly.

A sound made him look up, and he saw Sam walking back from the break room. Realizing that Sam’s desk was next to where Steve was standing, Steve immediately went the opposite direction, earning an eye roll from Sam.

Without anything to do for the moment, Steve decided to go take his lunch break, hoping that when he came back, Clint would have something for him to work on.

He was going to write this damn article.

No one armed asshole was going to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like where this story goes! Let me know what you think :D


	2. 12 Hurdles That Need To Be Jumped Before It Gets Good

Clint came through surprisingly fast.

“I got a call back from my friend down there, and she told me that Barnes is on medical leave at the moment. Which kinda makes sense if he lost an arm, if you think about it. I know I wouldn’t want to come back to work with just one arm. Unless maybe it was a pirate arm, like a hook. A metal hook that—”

“Thanks, Clint. I really appreciate it.” Steve interrupted before Clint went down a rabbit hole he couldn’t climb out of. Sam, who was watching their whole exchange from his desk, just looked smug as hell, and Steve fought the urge to throw something else at him.

“Were you able to get any sort of contact info for him?” Steve asked hopefully, trying not to think about how stupid he felt at realizing that he’d been expecting this Barnes guy to be at work after losing an arm in goddamn lava.

“I did!” Clint exclaimed, making a few co-workers turn their heads to see who was yelling. “Nat is apparently friends with the guy or something, not just co-workers, and she gave me a forwarding address, saying she thought he might be there now.” Clint looked through a notebook that was filled with random pieces of paper ranging in size and color. He grabbed a red one that had writing on it, and gave it to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve said, looking at the address. He did a double-take, though, when it registered. “Clint, this address. It’s here in New York. This is Brooklyn!”

Clint raised an eyebrow, and smiled, “How cool! Talk about working closer to home.”

Hope welled inside Steve as he realized he could potentially meet the guy face-to-face.

“Thank you so much!” Steve felt almost giddy, filled with strong purpose again as a plan began to unfold in his mind. He would go to this address, ask for this Barnes guy, and get the whole story.

“Hey! Rogers! Get your head out of the damn clouds and go find your story for fuck’s sake.” Steve whipped his head around to see Sam sitting at his computer looking at him with a long-suffering expression on his face.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with me, Wilson?” Steve asked, not bothering to stop grinning. “Could make for a fun road trip.” Steve fished out his phone and unlocked it.

“No road trip with you would be fun.” Sam groaned, waving him off. “Go find your muse or whatever.”

Steve chuckled and entered the address into his map app, pulling up directions. “If Stark asks, tell him I’m chasing down a lead.”

“Oh my god, Rogers, this is Buzzfeed, not the fucking NYPD.”

*

The address really was almost next door. It would take him barely a half-hour by train. He got on the 4 train at Union Square and took it to Borough Hall. From there he walked a few blocks down onto Montague St. until he reached his final destination.

The building was pretty nondescript, with an AT&T store at the bottom. Next to it was a sushi restaurant. There was a pretty church across the street, and some construction down the road.

When he reached the building he ignored the door that led to the store and went to the door leading to the apartments. It didn’t take him long to find the intercom with all the apartment numbers. Scanning the names, next to a taped piece of paper labeled ‘J.J. ?’, he found a ‘J. B. Barnes’ at apartment #107, and he internally high-fived himself for having found the right place. He pressed the button and held his breath as he heard the buzzing. Instinctively he felt his jacket pocket for his pen and notebook, already knowing they were there from when he’d tucked them in before leaving work. Just feeling them there calmed some of his jitters slightly, but he still felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

A scratch of white noise was all the prelude he got before a man’s voice rasped out, “Hello?”

“Hi, yes, hello, this is Steve Rogers from Buzzfeed, and I’m looking to speak with a James Barnes. Is he available?” Steve felt his smile in his voice, and he couldn’t wait to talk with this guy and get his story. Lava? Who even survives lava?

The disembodied man’s voice apparently never got the memo to be excited, because he responded with an utterly flat, “No.”

The suddenness of it set Steve back reeling. “No? Excuse me?”

Another scratch, “I said ‘no.’ I don’t want to talk to anyone. Go away.”

And with a sudden absence of white noise, he was gone. Steve was speechless.

Did he fucking just get hung up on? Metaphorically speaking, but it still stung.

Like hell Steve was going to let this story slip away from his fingers. He wasn’t about to let some asshole ruin his day, even if that asshole only had one arm.

He pressed the buzzer again, but there was no answer. Another press and still, nothing. He idly wondered if he should press another apartment’s number, make up a story to get in, but that seemed too sketchy. He was going to get in the good old fashioned way: wait until someone came in or out.

Unfortunately, no one felt like walking through those building doors for the next half hour, leaving Steve leaning against the side wall, forcing a friendly smile at any passersby that looked at him suspiciously. It was warm outside, being the end of summer, so it wasn’t too bad, but after a while he felt himself starting sweat a little bit. He spent his time half watching out for anyone that might live in the building, and the other half learning all about the super good deals that AT&T proclaimed to offer, courtesy of their promotional posters taped to the windows next door.

He’d moved on to study the sushi menu on the other side when a man with a walking cane approached the building. Steve tried not to move too fast, his heart suddenly pounding with adrenaline. When Steve focused, he realized it wasn’t just a walking cane, but an actual white cane that the man was carrying; he was blind.

Steve suddenly felt guilty, knowing what he was trying to do, but it didn’t stop him from watching the way the man fumbled with his keys, and instinctively offering help.

“Hey, need a hand there?” He asked, walking closer.

The blind man turned towards Steve, and even through his sunglasses Steve felt the impression that he was staring right at him. It was slightly unsettling.

“Thanks, but I think I got it. Just trying to remember which key it was. I’m house-sitting for a friend.” The man answered in a quiet voice.

Steve looked at the key ring and noticed a luridly pink key that clashed with the others. “Two more down, I think,” he pointed out, mentally kicking himself when he remembered, right, blind.

The man flipped two rings and held the pink one as he murmured, “Thanks.” From there he didn’t seem to have a problem putting the key in lock and opening the door.

“You going inside?” He asked warily, and Steve wondered how he must seem, conveniently standing outside the building.

“Yeah, I forgot my key and locked myself out.” Steve lied easily, only feeling slightly guilty. It’s not as if the blind man would know if he lived there or not.

“That sucks. You’re lucky it’s not too hot to stay outside all day anymore.” Steve nodded, agreeing. It wasn’t until the guy opened the door and made a sweeping motion with his hand, saying, “After you,” that Steve once again remembered that the guy wouldn’t have been able to see his reaction.

“Thanks a lot.” Steve said, trying to be warm. He felt like he’d offended the guy enough for one day. Once inside, though, he felt very awkward as the blind guy closed and locked the door behind them. Spying the stairs near the back, Steve offered “See around,” and headed upwards.

The blind guy hummed in response and then Steve forgot about him as he climbed the flight of stairs. 107 meant he only had to go to the first landing, which was nice; Steve was used to climbing six stories for his apartment. Number seven seemed to be all the way at the end of the hallway so he made his way there, silently counting all the apartments along the way.

When he finally was standing in front of the right apartment, he had to take a moment to laugh at the patriotic banner that hung around the peephole. 4th of July was well over, but this guy clearly hadn’t been bothered to take down the decorations.

Steve was about to knock when he heard a shuffling, and he looked back down the hallway. The blind guy was walking towards him and Steve felt caught. He was about to open his mouth to come up with a lie or anything, but the guy beat him to the punch.

“Chill, I know you don’t live here. I don’t care.” He jangled his keys, fingers sifting through them to find a regular silver one.

Steve forced himself to swallow. “How did you know?”

The blind guy gave a small half-smile. “Because you’re not Barnes and he lives there.” He pointed to the apartment Steve was standing inside of before putting the key into apartment 105 and opening the door.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but he froze when he caught a glimpse of the inside of the blind guy’s apartment. Or rather, the apartment of whoever he was house-sitting for, because there was no way that this dude had that many dildos hanging around the apartment like decorations. The blind guy didn’t seem to know they were there. Or if he did, he didn’t seem all too concerned with it.

“Umm.” Steve began, not knowing where to start.

The blind guy misinterpreted Steve’s sudden nervousness, reiterating, “Seriously, I don’t care,” and disappearing into the dildo-apartment, leaving Steve reeling.

With that, Steve shook himself off, chalking it up to another weird New Yorker interaction and stared at the apartment he came here for. He had snuck in and gotten this far, hadn’t he? He might as well go all the way. Taking a deep breath, Steve raised his hand and knocked three times on the door. In the short moments that stretched on forever, Steve raced mentally through what he was going to say. A quiet series of sounds from the inside of the apartment made his heart rate speed up again in anticipation.

The door rattled and then opened all the way, and Steve noticed the lack of a chain lock when he was suddenly faced with the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen in his life.

His hair was pulled back into a messy bun with strands escaping to fall in his face. He had sharp cheekbones that complimented the jut of his chin, and his eyes were a gentle blue that verged on grey, though that could have been just the lighting in the hallways. He was wearing a worn black t-shirt that did little to disguise how built he must be underneath. The only thing that stood out as being odd was the way the left side of his shirt was bunched up and tied at the end, accentuating the fact that there was a limb missing. His right arm was bare and clearly muscled, and Steve wanted to drool over those biceps as they flexed while holding the door open.

“Can I help you?” The man asked impatiently, and even the slightly annoyed crease between his eyebrows didn’t take away from his beauty, and Steve knew in that moment that he was completely and utterly fucked.

He’d had a whole spiel he was supposed to launch into, a grand, inspiring speech that would convince this Mr. Barnes to let him inside and tell him his whole story. Instead, he couldn’t remember a single word fast enough before the guy cottoned onto who Steve must have been.

“You’re that guy from the intercom, aren’t you? I told you, I’m not interested.”

Steve barely had the word, “Wait,” on his lips before the door was slammed in his face.

“Fuck.” Steve breathed. That had not gone the way he’d meant it.

Mr. James B. Barnes might be an asshole, Steve decided, but goddammit, he was a handsome one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real inconspicuous, Steve. Smooth.


	3. Awkward Man Finally Makes Real, Audible Connection, Regrets It All

Going back to the office, Steve felt like he had his metaphorical tail tucked firmly between his legs. It was only Tuesday, but he was at a loss as to where to even start planning in order to get this story actually written. Stark had given him until Friday for the deadline, and Steve thought that it seemed impossible to get the guy to talk to him in time.

Slipping into the elevator at work, a voice caught his attention, “Wow you look bummed. Did you lose your cat or something?”

Steve turned to look behind him and saw one of their new hires leaning against the elevator railing. He’d seen her hanging around Clint a few times, but he couldn’t quite remember her name.

“The subject of my story won’t talk to me.” Steve explained, leaning back himself as the doors closed and the elevator began to lift.

The girl,— Carrie? Katie? Cassie?— popped a bubble of gum before saying, “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Yeah.” Steve didn’t know how to carry on the conversation, especially with a virtual stranger, even if they did work together.

“Want some advice?” She asked right as they hit their floor.

The doors began to open and Steve was ready to get out of there and go to his desk but he didn’t want to be rude so he murmured, “Sure.”

“Tell ‘em you’re dying and you want this to be your final article.” And with that, she strode out of the elevator.

Steve thought he’d been surprised enough for a day, but he hadn’t expected to be so wrong.

He didn’t feel like going to his desk anymore, so he made a detour and walked to Sam’s terminal. Both he and Clint were crowding around Sam’s computer, talking animatedly about whatever was on the screen. Clint, though, caught sight of Steve and broke into a wide grin.

“Hey, man! Did you talk to him? Get the whole story?” When Steve shook his head dejectedly, Clint’s grin faltered. “Oh boy. What happened?”

Sam had perked up by then, and pulled his neighbor’s empty chair closer, gesturing for Steve to sit down. It didn’t him long to tell him the whole story of his failure out to Brooklyn, topping it off with the weird advice he got in the elevator.

“What the fuck kind of advice is that?” Sam asked incredulously.

Clint, for his part, looked pensive, “No, Katie-Kate’s right. You should make something up. You know, just to get your foot in the door.”

Sam and Steve both turned to look at Clint with a raised eyebrow.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man.” Sam muttered under his breath.

“I’m not going to lie to the guy, Clint. I just want him to talk to me.”

“So what are you going to do, then?”

Steve took a big breath and let it out slowly, “I don’t know. Go back tomorrow? Try again?”

“You’re obsessed.” Sam said, pushing at Steve’s chair so it swiveled.

“Hey,” Steve protested, “You would be too if you saw what he looked like.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think of a better comeback, but it was too late. Clint’s eyebrows shot up, and Sam looked like a cat that caught the canary.

“Oh, that’s how it is? Rogers, you are obsessed!” Sam looked downright gleeful at this new piece of information, and Steve wanted to bury his face in his arms.

“I just meant, that he looks pretty good. You know, for a guy who lost an arm to lava and stuff.”

“I’m sure you’d think he looks better in between some sheets.” Clint teased lasciviously.

Sam barked out a laugh and high-fived Clint.

“I hate you guys so much.”

*

By the end of the day, Steve had a vague plan set out.

He was going to stalk Barnes.

Well, not exactly stalk. He wasn’t going to stoop so low as to buy actual binoculars or steal a lock of hair or whatever actual stalkers did. He was simply researching his subject and being persistent in getting his attention so he can talk to him and get to know him and definitely not stalking.

At least that’s what he assured himself as he loitered in front of Barnes’ apartment building Wednesday morning.

He took his car this time, and he was even lucky enough to have been able to find a parking spot to sit in.

That was lie. He wasn’t lucky at all; he’d spent a solid forty-three minutes driving down the same street over and over again until someone happened to pull out right as he got closer. There’d even been some misses like when he’d driven past and another car was in the place of where that red 2013 Prius had been the whole time, and dammit that was supposed to have been his spot.

As it were, he was well into the third hour of sitting outside an apartment for what he was now calling his ‘recon.’

He almost wanted to congratulate himself on his turn of phrases, but then he realized he probably shouldn’t.

Three-plus hours in a car meant he’d drunk all of the water he’d brought with him, and he was now in the very uncomfortable position of being really thirsty and having to pee really badly. He’d started wriggling in his seat a half-hour ago, but now it was getting to dangerous levels of holding it in. When it got to the point that he thought he might actually piss himself if he didn’t relieve himself, he finally admitted he needed a break. Taking one last look at the still-closed door to the building, he turned off the car and definitely didn’t run to the Starbucks down the street.

Walking straight to the back of the café, Steve tried to open the men’s room only to find it locked. He knocked on it hesitantly, and a gruff voice from inside snapped, “It’s occupied.”

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled as he tried not to think about how much he needed to go. He waited by the door, hoping that the guy would be quick, but his illusions were shattered when a couple minutes passed and still nothing.

Steve even considered going into the women’s restroom, but as soon as he plucked up the courage (definitely not desperation), a little girl with long brown hair skipped past him to go inside.

Groaning in defeat, Steve wondered if maybe he should kill two birds with one stone and order a drink. Then, hopefully the guy would be out of the restroom by the time he got his drink. And if not, then he guessed he could always use the phone store next door.

Luckily, there was no one in line so Steve went straight up to the counter. A teenage girl with her head shaved and dark make-up on greeted Steve in a very bored manner, “Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get for you.”

“Hi, yes, can I get a coffee?”

The cashier made a very impressive high arch with her eyebrow and managed to look even more bored. “What kind of coffee would you like. Sir.”

Even with the title, Steve wondered at how she made it sound so disrespectful before saying, “Just like, a dark roast? Do you have those?”

“Yes, sir. One dark roast. What size would you like.” She somehow made every question sound like a statement, and Steve would probably feel uncomfortable if this hadn’t been just another interaction in New York.

“Medium is fine.”

“Sir, would you like a tall, grande, or venti?”

“Is grande the medium?” Steve could never remember the right sizes for Starbucks since he usually went to the coffee shop down the street from his apartment, and coffee was always available at work.

Instead of verbally answering, the cashier grabbed a medium-sized empty cup and showed it to Steve.

“Yeah, okay. That one.”

He went through the rest of the transaction without a problem, but as soon as she handed him his receipt, a sudden pang in his bladder reminded him he still very much needed to pee.

Steve glanced at the girl and judged that she would take a couple minutes to get his drink ready so he quickly made his way to the back again. He hadn’t paid attention to see if it had been vacated, but as soon as he tried the handle again and found it still locked, Steve mentally cursed at his situation.

However, before he had a chance to think about running down the street to beg the phone store to use their bathroom, the door opened. Steve took an actual step back when he saw the man that walked out; he was a very large and stocky man with muscular arms that bulged out of his polo and were currently crossed in front of his chest.

“You couldn’t have waited a minute? Sir. I was cleaning.” Steve wondered if the cashier learned her fake respect from this guy who was very obviously the manager as he rolled out a bucket and mop.

Steve was about to apologize when the man said, “Careful, it’s slippery,” and walked away.

Shaking his head, Steve went inside and locked the door so that he could relieve himself at long last. It took a little longer than usual before he washed his hands and was out the door to go pick up his drink.

As he approached the pick-up counter, however, Steve froze.

There, ordering his drink, was none other than James Barnes. He was even smiling a beautifully bright smile, and Steve was struck by how different his face looked when happy. How handsome he was. It lit up his entire face, and by god, Steve was fucked. He wanted to rub his face against the slight stubble Barnes was sporting.

Shaking off intrusive thoughts and instead thanking his lucky stars, Steve grabbed his drink before striding over to him. Feeling a sudden presence, Barnes looked away from his conversation with the cashier to look at Steve’s approach, and immediately frowned, completely shutting down all easy-going expressions. It was almost heart-breaking to watch.

“You’re stalking me now? Get lost.” He bit out, turning his attention back to the cashier.

“I just wanted to ask a couple questions, Mr. Barnes, that’s all.” Steve implored, ignoring the look the cashier was giving the two of them.

Barnes mumbled, “Leave me the fuck alone,” and proceeded to ignore him as he slipped his hand into a back pocket to fish out his wallet. Steve took a step back to give him space to finish his transaction, but he stubbornly stayed near him. He watched as Barnes struggled with his wallet, opening it one-handed and pulling out singles to pay. When the cashier girl gave him his change back, though, he dropped a few of the coins onto the counter. Without thinking, Steve stepped forward and helped him pick up the change.

“I don’t fucking need help.” Barnes snapped, brushing him off with a scathing glare.

Steve was taken aback by the sudden intensity of the reprimand, and quietly offered, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.” He carefully tipped the coins back onto the counter and purposefully stepped back again.

Barnes’ face softened by a fraction, but then he shook his head and snatched the coins up, jamming the change into his front pocket and his wallet in his back pocket.

Without making eye contact, Barnes strode past Steve, almost clipping him as he passed. Steve simply turned around and followed him, still ignoring the curious looks the cashier threw him. Barnes sat down on a stool by the bar counter along the window as he waited for his drink. Steve sat on the stool two spots over from him, facing towards Barnes who very pointedly watched the counter.

“Mr. Barnes, please, can I just have a few minutes of your time?” He asked, his mental list of questions already coming up in the order he’d rehearsed them in the car.

Silence, and an eye roll was his answer.

“I just wanted to ask a couple of questions, Mr. Barnes.” Steve continued, trying to feel unperturbed by the less-than-warm reception. “You’re going to talk to me, I know it.” He tried, cajolingly.

Again, no answer. Barnes did, however, hold a very interesting staring contest with the menu.

Steve needed to win this contest. “It really won’t take long, I promise.”

Barnes’ eye twitched, and Steve almost felt bad for laying on the persistence so thick. If the guy would just answer, it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable for either of them!

“Mr. Barnes, I’m writing an article in which—”

Steve was cut off by the cashier calling out, “Bucky! Your disgusting drink is ready.”

Barnes immediately jumped off the stool and approached the counter, throwing out a, “Thanks, Ellie,” and grabbing what looked like a monstrous sugary concoction that heroically tried to pass as some sort of frappuchino. Not sparing a glance backwards, he began to hurry out of the café.

Steve readjusted his grip on his own cup of coffee and immediately hurried after him. Luckily, Barnes either didn’t walk very fast or didn’t really care because Steve caught up to him easily, slipping into step with him.

“Mr. Barnes, please, just a few minutes of your time is all I need.” He tried to not let disappointment creep in when again he was ignored. Barnes took that moment instead to take a long drag of his drink, and Steve vaguely wondered how he was even getting anything through the straw since it looked so thick.

“Mr. Barnes, tell me, what can I do to talk with you, just for a little bit?”

Barnes just kept walking.

Swallowing bitter disappointment at long last, Steve mumbled to himself, “Fuck, Sam was right.”

“Who’s that?” Barnes asked. They both froze for a second, steps faltering, as Steve simultaneously realized Barnes had finally spoken to him in a not-so-mean manner, and the fact that he’d managed to unwittingly spark an interest in Barnes who obviously hadn’t meant to say that. Eyes widened in shock, Barnes picked up a faster pace after mumbling a curse to himself for accidently talking to Steve.

Trying not to preen too much, Steve couldn’t help gloating just a little, “See, I told you you’d talk to me.” He didn’t push too much, though, especially because they’d finally reached Barnes’ apartment building.

Steve hung back, knowing it would be a dick move to keep bothering Barnes today. Instead, he watched as Barnes set the drink down and reached across himself to grab his keys from his opposite pocket. Steve was crossed between being mildly impressed with how well he seemed to be doing with just one arm and wanting to help the guy out.

“Hey, how about we get coffee together sometime?” Steve tried as he got the door opened.

Bending over to pick up his drink, Barnes finally looked at Steve, a slight frown still creasing his forehead.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

And with that, he walked inside and let the door slam closed behind him.

Steve felt light with hope, however. He’d finally gotten a semi-coherent conversation out of the guy, and he hadn’t snapped at him like before. That had to be a step in the right direction.

He was going to take this as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close, and yet so far away...


	4. 'That Was Unexpected' Man Says After Something Unexpected Happened

“You do realize how creepy it is that you’re stalking the guy, right? You know you’re stalking, what you’re doing. Straight up stalking.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as he leaned back in the car seat. He was parked a few cars away from Bucky’s apartment today and the only person to come in or out of those doors today had been the blind guy that Steve had run into the first day.

“I’m not stalking, Sam, I’m just resear—”

“Don’t you fucking try to convince yourself you’re doing recon, Rogers. I think you’re just using this as a cover at this point.”

“Sam, I really do want to write this article.” Steve tried to convey for the thousandth time.

“Yeah, and I bet the fact that you wouldn’t mind getting in his pants doesn’t hurt either.”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to argue that point, not when he’d been guiltily thinking about doing just that for all of last night and the majority of this morning.

“Don’t you have some work you have to do?” Steve desperately tried for a change in the conversation.

“Don’t you?” Sam countered, and Steve could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

It was at that moment, like a sign from the gods to relieve Steve of this awkward conversation, that he caught sight of what was definitely Barnes walking up the street, holding some heavy-looking grocery bags.

Already turning off the car and getting out, Steve quickly said, “Sam, I gotta go, call you later.” He hung up to the indignant voice of Sam complaining, and slipped his phone in his back pocket before looking both ways down the street. Letting a car pass, Steve jogged across just in time to intersect with Barnes who looked a little pained as he struggled to find his keys while still holding onto all the bags.

Steve was about to wave and say hello, wondering what time Barnes had gotten up to slip out of the apartment before Steve got there, when the grocery bags lost its battle in holding on, and ripped, dropping food and cans all over the sidewalk. Barnes flinched and cursed colorfully at his situation.

“Here, let me help,” Steve immediately bent over to help clean everything up, grabbing a pint of milk that miraculously hadn’t burst.

“I don’t fucking need help!” Barnes snapped, eyes wide and fist clenching around the useless handles of the broken bags. “I can do it myself!”

Steve was more prepared this time, and wasn’t fazed so much by Barnes’ yelling. Picking up a box of sugary cereal, Steve replied calmly, “I’m not saying you can’t, Mr. Barnes. The thing is, you don’t have to.”

That seemed to take Barnes aback, his shoulders slumping and his eyes casting downwards. It looked like he was making a conscious effort to slowly unclench his hand, and then he gave a curt nod. Steve didn’t say anything as he gathered up the rest of the groceries, —some cans, a couple plastic boxes of fruit, a jar of Nutella, and dishwater soap— and stood up. He waited patiently while Barnes seemed to realize that he needed to open the door and finally located his keys.

“Thanks.” He mumbled as he unlocked the door and opened it, holding it open for Steve to pass through.

As he walked in, the harsh florescent light of the hallway brightened up Barnes’ face in a shocking way, and Steve, for his part, realized that Barnes didn’t look too great.

As in, the guy didn’t look as if he was sleeping well. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped hard, as if he didn’t have enough energy to keep them up. His hair also looked disheveled, but more in an unkempt way, rather than a purposefully-chic, hipster sort of way. He could have just been having a rough day, but a niggling thought at the back of Steve’s mind kept whispering that the guy looked like he was struggling with depression.

Watching as he stood there, uncertain, Steve knew all too well how that went, so he impulsively started to talk, taking it easy.

“I have a really weird boss.” Steve had no idea why he said that, but when Barnes looked up curiously he kept going. “Like, really weird. He eats blueberries with gummy bears.”

Barnes raised an eyebrow and then offered, “What’s so weird about that?”

He then nodded in the direction of the stairs and started walking away, glancing back to make sure that Steve was following.

“Why would you eat fresh fruit and candy? That cannot taste good.”

Barnes raised his shoulders as he started up the stairs. “I dunno, doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“He also eats popcorn with milk.”

Barnes stopped at the first landing and turned to stare back at Steve. “Okay, that’s gross.”

Steve smiled, saying, “Thank you. Finally we agree on something!”

Barnes stared at him for another moment and then finally cracked a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “You got me. I’m just down here.” He gestured down the hallway. “Though I guess you already knew that. What with your stalking and everything.”

Steve was still appreciating the way that Barnes’ entire face changed, lighting up with that one grin, that it took him a moment before his brain caught up. “Excuse me, it’s called researching. And let’s go back to the boss thing, we were doing so well.”

This time, Steve missed it when Barnes gave a chuckle because he had faced away from Steve, but he still counted it as a win. It was double win when Barnes freely offered, “See, my boss isn’t actually my boss.”

He reached his door and started putting the key in just as Steve caught up. “Well, now you can’t just leave me hanging like that.” Steve said, throwing a little pout in for good measure. Barnes looked up at him and flashed him another grin as he got the door opened. He then furrowed his eyebrows in thought, looking down at the door handle still in his hand.

“I guess you should come in and put down the groceries.”

Barnes looked like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, and Steve didn’t want to give him a chance to backtrack, forcing his voice to sound casual as he said, “Sure, but I gotta hear about your not-boss. That sounds weird.”

Distracted, Barnes’ smile slowly crept back. “It’s not that weird. This super rich guy, T’Challa, like owns all of National Geographic, but he hates all the bureaucratic shit that comes with being CEO or something, and would rather be out, taking pictures. It’s like undercover boss, but everyone knows who he is.” As he talked, Barnes led Steve into his small apartment, shrugging as Steve took it in. “It’s not much. Here, you can just put them on the counter here.” Barnes gestured towards a bar that wrapped around the kitchen in an ‘L’ shape.

“Anyway, he put this other guy, Coulson, in charge. But it’s weird because for some things you can just ask Coulson, but for some others, you have to track down T’Challa wherever the fuck he is in the world to ask him. It’s like finding Waldo and Santiago at the same time, the guy is ridiculously good at hiding.”

Steve set the groceries down and watched as Barnes grabbed the cereal and started putting it away. Steve picked up the milk and brought it to the fridge, opening it and setting it inside and not thinking about how much space there was, before saying, “Stark’s mentioned your boss before, I think. Something about black panthers?”

Barnes started stacking the cans in a cupboard. “It’s the series that got him famous. They’re seriously great photos, you should…see. Them. Sometime.”

Barnes trailed off as he looked back at Steve who froze in the middle of settling the dish soap under the sink. Steve then realized what they looked like, putting away groceries and chatting, and Steve wondered if Barnes was about to freak out or snap at him again.

Taking in the easy posture the guy had, though, Steve figured he might not get yelled at again, even if he was gripping the jar of Nutella a little too tightly. If anything, Steve got the feeling that Barnes hadn’t really talked to anyone in a while and Steve just happened to be someone listening.

He finished putting away the soap, pushing away the vague embarrassment of basically storming someone’s home and helping to put groceries away in places he’d been assuming were right and now realizing he actually had no idea what he was doing.

“Um.” Steve began eloquently.

“You mentioned Stark? That’s your boss?” Barnes interrupted. His eyes were bright with curiosity and Steve grabbed onto the bait.

“Yeah. I work for Buzzfeed, and he owns it.”

That caused Barnes to roll his eyes and grab a box of strawberries along with his chocolate. “Ugh, that’s probably how you found out about me. God, I’m going to kill Natasha.”

Steve picked up a box of blueberries and handed them over to Barnes to put away in the fridge, wondering if seeing the blueberries was what inspired his conversation starter earlier. “Who’s Natasha?”

“She’s a friend and colleague. But more importantly she has a fuck buddy at Buzzfeed. Which is how, I’m assuming, I’ve been backstabbed.”

He closed the fridge and then stood awkwardly against the door. He didn’t seem tense anymore, though, just very unsure of the situation he’d found himself in.

Steve could sympathize, but instead of thinking of something to ease the guy, he fully understood what Barnes had said. “Wait, Natasha as in Nat? Clint’s contact is a girlfriend? Like some Romeo and Juliet kind of thing?”

Barnes grinned again, “I don’t think it’s nearly that dramatic. And from what I understand, she’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”

Steve snorted, “Yeah, I don’t doubt that part.”

Barnes gave a fuller laugh at that, and Steve was smitten by the way it crinkled his eyes, making him look younger and more relaxed. He wanted to see that again.

“Maybe they’re more of a Mr. & Mrs. Smith kind of deal.” Steve proposed, getting the feeling that sparking some wild theories would make Barnes laugh again. He wasn’t wrong, and was rewarded by another one of his laughs, his smile growing wide with mirth.

Barnes scrubbed his hand through his stubble, postulating, “I actually wouldn’t be surprised if Natasha turned out to be some sort of spy. It would answer so many questions.”

The conversation trailed off into silence. It wouldn’t have been awkward if they both didn’t look up at the same time and realize, again, how weird of a situation they were in. Steve was leaning against the counter now, and immediately felt the stupid, goofy grin sliding away from his face. And when did he even start smiling like a dork? This was really not boding well for his professional cred…

Barnes cleared his throat then, and offered quietly, “Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”

Steve looked up at him again and actually felt his heart skip a beat. Ignoring the tight feeling in his stomach, he said, “Ye— yeah. Coffee sounds great.” Barnes nodded and quickly moved towards the coffee pot.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, Steve knew he had to backtrack. “Actually. Um.” Barnes halted, his outstretched hand coiling back as he faced Steve. “I really shouldn’t impose on you. I really should probably go.”

The crinkle between Barnes’ eyebrows came back. “I thought the whole point of stalking someone was to get into their house.”

A laugh was startled out of Steve as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, guess so. Don’t really want ‘stalker’ on my résumé, you know?”

Barnes nodded too, “Yeah, I can understand that.” He then gestured towards the door, which Steve belatedly realized he’d left open. He let Barnes walk him to the door, but before he crossed the threshold, Barnes stopped him.

Steve looked at the hand holding onto his forearm, and then looked up. Barnes froze for a moment, disbelief crossing his face at having touched Steve before he snatched his hand back, stuttering over his sentence as he tried to divert Steve’s attention, “Wha—what kind of, um, questions would you even have asked, anyway? Just out of um. Out of curiosity.” His cheeks colored slightly before he cleared his throat again and said more cockily, “Not that I’d answer them, of course.”

“Of course,” Steve echoed. He shifted his weight to one foot before replying without thinking, “I dunno. I’d probably ask something like, ‘what does lava feel like?’ or something.”

There was an entire moment of complete silence before Barnes started cackling hysterically. Steve found himself joining in, especially when Barnes doubled over and leaned his one hand on a knee, still cracking up.

“Oh my god,” Barnes gasped out between bright peals of laughter. “Jesus Christ,” He finally started getting himself under control enough to say, “I really hope you’re not the best reporter they sent, because holy fuck do you suck at your job.”

Steve was just finally shaking off giggles before agreeing, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Like, what kind of question…” Barnes trailed off, laughing again. It was contagious and Steve laughed with him, the culmination of everything, the stalking, the coffee shop, the awkward grocery mishap, everything, coming to a head. It’d been a really weird week.

“I don’t know, man,” Barnes chuckled, “It was pretty fucking hot.”

“Kind of like you, then?” Steve blurted out.

That worked like a bucket of ice as they both sobered up immediately and stared at each other.

Steve felt the tension as they both realized they were standing a little too close to each other. Barnes’ free hand squeezed into a fist before forcing himself to relax, and when Steve looked at his face again, Barnes raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and it was enough for Steve to act on another impulse, closing the small distance between them and kissing him.

Barnes’ hand came up to grab onto Steve’s arm again, and Steve pulled back slightly. When Barnes pushed in and kissed him back, however, Steve brought a hand up and pulled him in while staggering them both inside the apartment and closing the door behind him with his foot.

Steve kept kissing him, tongue darting out to test Barnes who immediately opened up to him with a low moan. The sound went straight down to Steve’s dick, but it also served as an alarm, making him break the kiss and stare at Barnes.

“Is— is this okay?” Steve asked, breathless already.

Barnes actually growled, his eyes narrowing and his hand flexing, “You better not fucking stop.”

Steve couldn’t help grinning as he leaned in to kiss him again, both hands wrapping around him tightly, causing Barnes to groan again. Steve was surprised by the muscle that was hiding under his shirt, even if he idly wondered that Barnes could be eating more.

All thought vanished, however, when Barnes rocked his hips against Steve’s, making it well known that his cock was growing hard behind his jeans. Steve wasted no time in crowding Barnes against a wall in his apartment, hands sliding down his ass to pull him flush against him.

“Fuck,” Barnes gasped, breaking the kiss. He leaned his head back against the wall and Steve didn’t hesitate in bending over to kiss his neck, biting gently and earning a half-thrust from Barnes. “Fuck me,” Barnes moaned, vocally appreciating the way Steve squeezed his ass.

“That’s the idea.” Steve breathed out, scraping his teeth against Barnes’ neck again.

This time, when Steve palmed his ass, he pushed in and lifted Barnes up, pinning him against the wall. Barnes immediately wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, commenting, “Fuck, you’re strong.”

“That’s because I eat my spinach every day.” Steve deadpanned, groaning himself when Barnes tilted his hips just right and Steve could feel his ass down onto his crotch.

Barnes changed his grip to wrap his arm around Steve’s neck, bringing him in close, “Just a regular old Popeye, aren’t you?”

Barnes smirked and pulled Steve in for another hungry kiss, taking control this time. Steve let him take the lead as he rucked up Barnes’ shirt to slide his hands over heated skin. Barnes flinched at the first contact, though, and Steve immediately pulled back, wondering if he’d hurt him. He’d almost forgotten that Barnes only had one arm, and that it must have meant scar tissue— possibly sensitive skin.

“No, no, ‘sfine—” Barnes mumbled against Steve’s mouth, “just keep it on, ‘kay?”

Steve grinned into Barnes’ mouth, happy with the permission to touch, “Sure thing. Wouldn’t want to blind me with all your glory at first, now.”

Barnes groaned at the line, but then it turned wanton when Steve put his hands back on him. They went back to kissing, and soon they were panting against each other as each of them took turns rolling their hips— Steve against Barnes’ perfect ass, and Barnes against Steve’s flat stomach. Steve was achingly hard, and he figured Barnes wasn’t too far off either, especially when he gave a frustrated whine, closing his eyes.

“Fuck, please, I’m so close.” Steve raked his blunt nails down Barnes’ sides, earning a choked off groan, “You’re fucking killing me, c’mon.”

Steve gripped tight and leaned back for a moment to quip, “What, need a hand?”

Barnes stilled and opened his eyes to stare incredulously at Steve.

“Jesus fuck you’re the worst.” There was no heat behind the words, though, and the genuine grin that stretched wide across his face ruined the rebuke completely, so Steve smirked and stepped back, bringing a hand to gently guide Barnes’ legs back down.

“Thank you.” Steve murmured, stepping right back into his space as soon as Barnes was standing again. He wasted no time in sneaking a hand between them to make short work of Barnes’ belt buckle and pants.

“God, how are you better doing that one-handed than I am. That’s not fucking fair.” Barnes hissed as soon as Steve slipped his hand into his underwear to wrap his fingers around his cock.

“I’m a little determined right now.” Steve replied, starting an easy tempo. He started speeding up as soon as Barnes started bucking into his grip, though, catching his mouth again in a searing kiss. Barnes’ hand slid up to grip Steve’s hair, crushing their mouths together when Steve rubbed his thumb over the head of Barnes’ cock. It was an awkward angle, but he made it work, squeezing and rubbing with the goal of getting him off.

Barnes started gasping, not paying attention to their kissing anymore, and Steve couldn’t blame the guy. It was hard to pay attention with a hand on your dick, and Steve considered that almost a compliment, especially when Barnes’ grip on his hair turned painful. Steve just kept going, leaning in to gently bite at Barnes’ scruffy jaw line, and that was the last straw. Barnes’ hips bucked hard against Steve, and he felt warmth spread over his fingers. He kept his rhythm going, milking Barnes until he whimpered and released Steve’s hair to lightly tap him on the shoulder.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Barnes breathed hard, panting into the space between them, eyes shut tightly. Steve carefully relaxed his fingers, slipping his hand out of his pants to rest on Barnes’ hip; Steve could feel his whole body still quivering from the orgasm.

“I lied.” Steve murmured.

Barnes cracked an eye open.

“I hate spinach. I’ll eat broccoli, though. Love broccoli.”

Barnes gave a shaky laugh, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes again. “My god, you’re a boy scout, aren’t you? Telling the truth and eating your veggies.” He smiled and leaned forward again. “I guess that means you should get a reward, then, right?” He winked at Steve and shifted his weight so he could put a thigh in between Steve’s legs.

Steve’s witty response died in his throat. “Fuck,” he cursed at the insistent pressure. Barnes wrapped his arm around his neck again and pulled him close.

“C’mon, big guy. Wanna see you lose it.” He nudged his thigh up and Steve moaned, angling down so he could hump his leg better. “That’s it, show me what you want.” Barnes hissed, catching an earlobe and biting softly, causing Steve to jerk his hips against him harder.

It took only a couple more dry thrusts before Barnes cocked his hips up, changing the angle just enough and Steve cried out, coming right there in his pants, twitching against Barnes.

“Fuck yeah, that was hot.” Barnes breathed out, relaxing his arm and sliding it down Steve’s chest, purposefully slow so as to feel him through his shirt.

“So like lava, then.” Barnes paused his exploration enough to smack him lightly before resuming his track.

Both of them stood there, Steve still crowding Barnes against the wall with his hands holding on his hips while Barnes just touched randomly.

After a couple of minutes where they both calmed down, breathing smoothing out as they enjoyed the afterglow, Barnes suddenly huffed a laugh. “God, I’m going to sound like such an asshole,” he began, “but, what was your name, again?”

Steve couldn’t help chuckling back, shaking his head as he flexed his grip on Barnes’ hips before finally letting him go. Looking down at himself he realized how bad the stain on his jeans was going to be. He looked back up to see as Barnes slipped his hand down his pants to rearrange himself. Feeling cheeky, Steve extended his hand out, saying, “Steve Rogers. Steve.”

Barnes rolled his eyes at Steve and finished fixing himself before reaching over and accepting Steve’s hand, shaking it firmly. They both made a face at the sticky way their hands felt. “Well, Steve, do you normally sleep with all of your stories?” They released each other to wipe themselves on their jeans.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Steve ran his cleaner hand through his hair, “No. Definitely not.”

Barnes grinned slyly. “Oh, so I’m your first?”

“You know, I really shouldn’t divulge secrets, Mr. Barnes. Gotta protect my sources and all.”

“Bucky.” Barnes said, straightening his shirt. “You should probably call me Bucky. I mean, I think you earned that much today.”

He offered another one of his genuine smiles, and Steve just wanted to wrap himself up in him again. Instead, he put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow, “Bucky, alright. Did I also happen to earn an extra pair of pants or something?”

Bucky eyed Steve’s crotch, lingering far too long to simply be assessing his wet stain. “Hmm, no I don’t think so. Guess you’re going to have to make that walk of shame. Serves you right.”

Steve groaned in fake exasperation, trying not to be mortified by the thought of walking to his car in this state. He knew no one would pay him any attention, but he knew. And of course, Bucky would know.

When Bucky pushed off the wall he walked past Steve, brushing against him purposefully before going to open the door, Steve followed suit, getting the hint. But he still lingered on the threshold, leaning outwards while still holding on with one arm so he was balancing between the apartment and hallway.

“So what about you telling me some more about that hot lava?”

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, sliding his hand above his head. “Hmm, not today. Steve.”

It sounded like he was rolling his name around in his mouth, trying it out, and it shouldn’t have sent such a thrill down Steve’s spine.

Steve pushed off the door, straightening up so he faced Bucky from the hallway, “That sounds like a rain check. Bucky.”

Bucky offered another one of his sly grins, almost taunting as he drawled, “Guess you’ll have to come pick it up some time.”

With that, he winked and gently let the door swing shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will eat popcorn with milk. Fight me.


	5. 15 Pictures Of Delicious Pizza, That's It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! School started up again yesterday so I completely forgot. Here's Chapter 5 :D

The next day at work Steve sat at his computer terminal with his laptop open to a blank word document, staring at it as if fully formed sentences would magically appear.

They did not, much to Steve’s numb disappointment. He was still trying to understand how, exactly, he’d stumbled into this mess he was in.

He had jackshit to write about, and he accidentally fucked the subject of his story. Not how he’d envisioned his week ending.

A noise startled Steve into looking up. It was only Scott, looking half-asleep while he nursed a much-too-big coffee cup, as he accidentally dropped his wallet and keys onto his desk space. He mumbled a half-hearted, “Sorry,” and heaved a sigh as he sat down in his chair.

“You look awake.” Steve said, grasping for something to focus on other than the mess he’d found himself in.

“You look…big,” was the intelligent response as Scott shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

Steve chuckled.

Scott looked like he was going to say something else but then lost steam, closing his mouth and staring at his book bag for a moment before deciding he should probably pull his laptop out.

Down the row from them, Steve caught sight of Sam walking in and his gut dropped at the idea of having to spill the beans on what he actually did last night. Sam had texted him wanting details and Steve had evaded answering him like a plague, so there was no doubt that Sam would be demanding an explanation today.

Of course at that moment, like the double-edged sword that was his life, Steve was saved from having to immediately talk to Sam, but at the cost of having to engage with Tony Stark.

“Rogers, it’s Friday morning, bright and early. You got a story for me?” Stark hoisted himself onto the desk, encroaching on Steve’s personal space enough to make Steve push back a little bit for room.

Ignoring the way Stark’s legs were annoyingly swinging back and forth, Steve straightened up. “Sir, I wanted to tell you—”

Stark cut him off immediately. “Tony. Please. None of this ‘sir’ stuff. It makes me feel old.”

“Tony,” Steve began, trying to pick up his thread again, “I’m still working on getting the story, I’m sorry. I finally got the guy to talk to me a little bit, I’m really thinking that with just a couple more days I could—”

“I don’t care.” Stark interrupted again.

Steve stared at him incredulously.

“Excuse me?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course I care, Rogers. I just mean, I know you’ll figure something out. I don’t care what you write about, because you’re just anal-retentive enough to make whatever bullshit you find actually readable.” Steve stiffened at the backhanded compliment but Stark just kept barreling on, not seeming to notice, “You wanna write this story? Fine. Go for it. Believe in your dreams. Or like, don’t. Believe in not believing in your dreams. Dream of believing of not believing in your dreams.”

Stark rapped his knuckles on the table three times and gave a curt self-nod as if agreeing with the spew of nonsense he just said, and then jumped off with a mock salute, leaving Steve behind, confused. No matter how many times he interacted with the man, Steve just never seemed prepared for the hurricane that followed, and the pep talk he just received added to his continuous whirl of not understanding this place.

A flash of movement caught Steve’s attention, but when he realized it was Sam striding up to sit in the same spot that Stark had just vacated, Steve groaned and closed his eyes, bringing his hands up to cover his face.

“Is that anyway to greet a friend? I’m hurt, Rogers.”

“Go away.” Steve mumbled through his fingers. A hand then patted his head. Steve dragged his hands down to look up in time to see Clint reaching across the aisle to slide a wheeled chair closer. He then sat on it backwards and rested his chin on the back of the chair. He looked almost as tired as Scott did, but probably had had a cup of coffee already.

“Why are you being a loser? Last I heard you made first contact with your victim. Story. Whatever.” Steve glared at him but it had no effect on Clint who started swaying the chair side to side.

“I get that yesterday was “Pick on Steve Day” but I hadn’t realized it was a two-day holiday.” Clint smirked but made no remark, simply waiting Steve out.

“I did get to talk to him, a little bit.” Steve finally admitted.

“And?” Sam hedged, poking his foot at Steve’s chair.

Steve brushed him off with his thigh, saying, “I still don’t have the story.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a big old ‘but’ in here?”

Clint snorted, “I bet Steve wishes there’d’ve been a big old ‘butt’ in there.”

“There kind of was…” Steve murmured quietly.

Sam and Clint both froze and stared at Steve who suddenly felt his cheeks heating up.

“Excuse me?” Sam pushed at Steve’s chair again when Steve didn’t say anything immediately.

“I…sort of…slept with him?” Steve suddenly found his fingers really interesting.

“Are you asking or telling?” Sam demanded while Clint overlapped with a “Hell fucking yeah!”

Steve looked up at Sam who had a very serious look on his face. Clint, on the other hand, looked beyond ecstatic and had his hand up, trying to get Sam to high-five him.

“Telling.” Steve confessed miserably.

“Holy shit, dude.”

Sam was frowning and steadfastly ignoring Clint who whooped and cheered, completely oblivious to the stares he was receiving from the few people around them. Even Scott flinched at the sudden loud cheering.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you?” Sam leaned in closer, “Do you really know? Because I didn’t take you for a loose-morals kind of guy who sleeps with his sources. I figured you were the kind of reporter that actually followed the ethics code that so many people like to forget we actually have.”

Steve’s cheeks only grew hotter as Sam talked, and he tipped his head back in frustration. The movement brought back a memory of Bucky tipping his head back against the wall, baring his neck for Steve, and Steve immediately straightened up.

“I know, Sam. I do. Trust me, I’m definitely not going to be doing that again.”

*

Steve had Bucky bent over the side of his couch as he popped open the tube of lube and slicked his fingers up.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot like this.” Steve breathed out in awe.

They had barely gotten undressed; Steve had pulled Bucky’s pants and underwear down only far enough to get access, with his own pants barely past his thighs, cock hard and hanging out. Bucky was currently writhing on the couch, his one arm reaching above his head to fist the cushions tightly as he moaned desperately. Steve knew that Bucky’s dick had to be trapped in this position, with his jeans catching and Steve pressing him firmly against the arm of the couch so he had nowhere to escape to.

“God, fuck me, please, c’mon,” Bucky groaned out between harsh pants. His head was turned to the side, and Steve could see half of his face, specifically his red-bitten lips. They had wasted no time getting together, nearly colliding with how quickly they’d jumped each other. Bucky had a couple of red marks that promised to darken into bruises on his neck from where Steve had gotten a little carried away.

“I’ve got you.” Steve promised, squeezing the bottle so lube dripped down Bucky’s crack. It was definitely too much, but Steve wanted to play it safe. He didn’t regret it, especially when Bucky sucked in a sharp breath at the first intrusive finger.

Steve paused, his other hand coming up to comfortingly hold onto Bucky’s hip, and asked, “You okay?”

Bucky panted for a moment, breathing deeply, before answering haltingly, “I just haven’t….since the arm…and even then…” His tone grew subdued at the confession, and Steve felt a rush of both fondness and lust run through his veins.

He was about to ask if he needed to slow down when Bucky arched and said assuring, “I’m okay, just trying to get use to it. Fuck, it feels so good.” He arched again, and Steve twisted his finger slowly just to see the shudder than ran down Bucky’s back. His shirt was half-tugged up, exposing back muscles that Steve just wanted to sink his teeth into. Bucky’s hair was disheveled and coming out of a sloppy bun, spilling over into his face.

Steve took it easy then, but didn’t slow down, not really. He pumped his finger a couple times, feeling the way Bucky loosened up, and soon he was slipping in another, scissoring to squeeze a third eventually, relishing in the way that Bucky opened up for him.

“C’mon, c’mon, give it to me,” Bucky pleaded, constantly shifting and twitching. He’d taken to rolling his hips as much as he could in the position he was in, and Steve had a feeling he was close from just the friction against the couch and his own horniness.

“You ready?” Steve gasped out, heartbeat in his throat, and dick sore from watching Bucky writhe. He wanted to fuck him so badly, wanted to see if he felt as good as he looked.

“Do it, Rogers, fuck me, c’mon,” Bucky glanced back at Steve, pupils swallowing blue as he bared his teeth in a wicked grin. He rubbed his face against the couch, trying to move the strands of hair away from his eyes, but not succeeding completely.

Steve grinned, letting his fingers slip out and hearing Bucky’s thin whine at the loss. He made quick work of opening the tiny packet that held his condom and decidedly refused to think about how he came prepared today. He also refused to think about how Bucky had also come prepared, a couple of condom packets lying innocuously on the coffee table. Rolling the condom on, he grabbed his cock and lined up, slipping against his crack a couple of times.

“Stop teasing me, fuck—” Bucky’s breath left him in an audible whoosh as Steve pushed in. It was incredibly tight, but the lube made it slippery enough to slide in all the way to the hilt. Both Steve and Bucky groaned in unison when Steve bottomed out, and they both stilled for a moment, adjusting to the stretch and fit.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Bucky hummed, a thready sound, “Are all reporters this big?”

Steve coughed out a laugh that quickly turned into a groan at the feel of Bucky shaking underneath him. “I don’t know, I don’t care.” He could feel himself so close to the edge and he imagined Bucky was probably just as close.

“Neither do I. Fuck me, c’mon.” Bucky begged.

Happy to comply, Steve slowly dragged himself back, but not letting himself slip out before pushing back in at the same steady pace. After a few of those slow thrusts, Bucky broke, whining incoherently at Steve. He caught a couple things like, “faster,” and “fuckin’ do it already,” and Steve gave in, snapping his hips faster and faster.

Steve wanted to hold out for longer than he actually did, coming embarrassingly quickly as his hips slapped hard against Bucky’s ass. Thankfully, Bucky was right behind him, tumbling into a desperate orgasm that made him clench down tight on Steve, milking him completely.

They both laid there, Steve on top of Bucky, as they shuddered and panted harshly. When Steve finally got enough of his bearings to look around, he realized he had stretched on top of Bucky to intertwine the fingers of one of his hands with Bucky’s, while the other hand had snuck in between the space under Bucky’s hips and the couch to pull him in closer.

“Fuck, that was great.” Bucky mumbled from under Steve as soon as they were both calmer. When he wiggled his ass, Steve took the hint and shifted, letting his cock slip out of Bucky with a wet sound. Steve tied off the condom and threw it in the tiny trash can conveniently placed at the end of the couch, under the side table. Bucky made a content low sound in his throat and stretched, almost displacing Steve.

“You okay?” Steve felt obliged to ask, even though he figured he knew the answer already. He turned towards the back of the couch as Bucky slipped the other way, rolling to the floor before pushing himself up.

Steve sprawled along the couch and tilted his head to the side to he could keep an eye on him as Bucky said, “Fabulous. You?” He pulled his underwear and jeans up, shimming in when they got stuck.

Steve vaguely gestured towards himself, letting his hand flop down to brush against the floor. His jeans were still around his thighs, constricting now in the awkward position, but Steve felt too lazy to fix it. “Super.”

Bucky chuckled and straightened his shirt. “I’m thirsty. D’you want something to drink?” He stretched his arm high above him before bending over to touch his feet.

Steve felt his mouth quirk up at the sight, especially when his shirt crept up enough to expose some skin. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

Bucky grinned and sauntered into the kitchen, throwing a “Damn right,” over his shoulder. There’s was the noise of rummaging through the fridge, and then the click of a bottle opening. Steve finally pulled his knees under him and propped himself up enough to pull up his pants, tucking his dick back inside his boxers. By the time Bucky came back with a red sports drink in hand, Steve had finally pulled himself up into a semi-acceptable sitting position on the couch.

“So are you just going to keep using sex as a divergent to keep me away from the story?” Steve joked, running his hands through his hair and then down his face.

Bucky grinned his wicked smile and stepped right up to Steve, handing over the drink, which Steve accepted readily. “Maybe.” His own drink was tucked under his armpit, and with a deft sudden movement, he let it drop, catching it right before it fell to the floor.

He stepped back and then sunk down into the loveseat perpendicular to the couch, tucking his legs up underneath him as he started to drink his bottle.

Steve rolled his eyes and drank his, not realizing he was chugging it down until he was three-fourths done. He set the bottle down on his lap, and then almost immediately brought it back up to his lips to finish when he realized he didn’t know what to say.

He had come to the apartment to talk to Bucky, to try and get the story out of him once and for all. He’d rung the bell, and Bucky had let him upstairs without a problem, but as soon as Bucky had opened the door, they had looked each other and gone stupid. They had barely breathed out a ‘hello’ each before they were groping at each other and trying to close the door behind them as they attempted to make it to the bedroom.

They had gotten as far as the couch.

So now that their ridiculous libidos had been sated, the awkwardness was definitely starting to creep in. Steve looked around the apartment, taking in all the framed pictures hanging on the wall, some in color, and some in black and white. He had been a little too keyed up last time he’d been here to really take in the style and decorations, but now that he was really paying attention, he found that he somehow wasn’t surprised. All of the furniture looked practical in a comfortable kind of way, and the photos all spoke of wonder and life, each one depicting some sort of beauty that Steve wanted to examine.

Of course, he had no idea of how to even approach the subject, especially not after fucking someone’s brains out, so he opened his mouth to offer to leave.

“I think I should—”

“Do you wanna stay and watch something with me?” Bucky interrupted immediately.

Steve snapped his mouth shut with a click and looked up at Bucky. He’d finished his drink too and was starting to fidget with the label on his bottle.

“I mean, if you want to…” he trailed off, casting his eyes down to where he was picking with his fingernail. Steve noticed his empty arm sleeve was hanging loosely today, not tied up like last time.

Looking at Bucky who was obviously suddenly anxious and trying not to show it, Steve was struck again by the idea that Bucky might be a little bit lonely. The whole time that Steve had been watching his place, he hadn’t noticed anyone else coming in to talk to him. Bucky didn’t exactly go out, either, at least not from what Steve had seen. And it wasn’t as if Bucky was exactly a warm kind of guy at first.

Well, that wasn’t true, Steve thought. Bucky had been really nice to the cashier, and had seemed to know her. Maybe it was just Steve that Bucky had been aversive to at first. Or maybe he’d just been having a bad day. Or week. Or month. Months.

Losing an arm, however it happened, was bound to bring up some issues.

Or maybe Steve was just reading way too much into everything and was projecting what he wanted to see onto this very attractive man that he already wanted to fuck again, despite his melting resolve to not screw for a story.

Either way, Steve was happy to accept.

“I would love to. Provided you don’t put on some crap show, that is.”

Bucky’s entire frame seemed to relax as he breathed out whatever tension he’d been holding. Offering a crooked smile, Bucky rolled his eyes. “I was thinking more like Game of Thrones, but I could always put on Fox news if you’d like.”

Steve brought a hand up to his chest in mock insult, “Don’t you dare.”

Bucky waved him off and then got to his feet and walked to the kitchen bar where he picked up his phone.

“Moment of truth, what kind of pizza do you like?”

Steve set his empty bottle down on the coffee table and answered, “Anything with meat on it.”

“Oh thank god. I thought you might be one of those pineapple-on-pizza kind of guys, and I might have had to ask you to leave. Or worse, maybe you were a vegan.” Bucky jokingly shuddered, while Steve chuckled.

“Nope, not for me. I tried it back in college, but I couldn’t do it.”

Bucky flashed him a grin again and then called the pizza place. After that he sat back down, and Steve was amazed when he realized that they’d started chatting so casually. By the time that the pizza came, Steve had learned that Bucky had been born and raised in Brooklyn, and that his apartment was actually his sister’s apartment that he was borrowing for the time being.

“Thanks, Miles.” Bucky tipped the pizza delivery guy before closing the door with his hip, and Steve wondered if Bucky just knew every kid on the block. He didn’t get a chance to ask before Bucky picked up the thread of their previous conversation.

“Being on forced sabbatical sucks ass, but at least I’m back home now, so I guess that’s alright.” Bucky set the pizza box down on the coffee table. Steve had finally taken off his shoes and was curled up on the couch as much as he could, a pillow on his lap. He reached over and grabbed one of the paper plates that Bucky had brought out, and loaded up three slices on it.

Bucky did the same, setting the plate down first and then putting the pizza on before picking the whole thing up. Sitting down, Bucky took the time to carefully balance the plate on his legs before digging in.

“Your sister lives in town?” Steve asked.

“Nah, she lives with her husband down in Fort Lauderdale. But she didn’t want to sell her place here, so they usually use it when they’re visiting.”

Steve swallowed a bite before saying, “That’s pretty nice. Florida’s pretty, I hear.”

Bucky hummed noncommittally before saying, “Yeah, she did alright for herself. What about you? Do you have any family in town?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. All by my lonesome in Chelsea.”

“Look at you, Mr. Important Reporter living in style.” Bucky teased. His stare lingered on Steve for a moment, as if trying to figure out if there was more to that story than Steve was letting on.

Steve shrugged and then said, “It’s closer to work either way. Closer than when I had to work at the New York Times.”

Bucky stared at him, dumbfounded. “Okay, wait a minute. Let’s put aside the fact that you worked at the New York Times and somehow now work at fucking Buzzfeed, but isn’t the New York Times in Lower Manhattan? How is that further away?”

Steve laughed, “No, the Times is in midtown and Buzzfeed is near Gramercy, so I’m a little closer to work now. But yeah, both are pretty close “” Steve laughed again at Bucky’s incredulous face.

Steve waved him off, saying, “So what about this Game of Thrones episode you baited me with?” He threw in a wink for good measure.

Bucky snorted, but let the subject be changed. “I mean, the season is over, so I’ve got any episode to offer.”

They both decided on rewatching the latest season. Steve got comfortable while Bucky pulled it up on the television screen.

“Nice screen.” Steve said, admiring how big it was compared to his own.

“Nice dick.” Bucky automatically responded with. He then looked up at Steve, almost as if he was nervous about how the joke would be received.

Without missing a beat, Steve replied, “Nice ass.”

Bucky grinned again, and then they were watching the show, adding their own commentary and theories as they watched. It felt so natural to be in Bucky’s apartment with him, yelling at the TV and having to stop to chat about whatever came to mind at the moment.

They paused the episodes so often that Steve learned Bucky was allergic to cats, and that he was terrible at cooking.

“I swear I’m trying to learn, despite the amount of failures in the kitchen.” Bucky told him seriously. “It’s just really fucking hard.”

“Having to do things one-handed can’t be easy either.” Steve pointed out, stretching his feet over the couch’s arm where Bucky had been only a couple of hours before.

“Yeah no, cutting was never my forte, and now I have to be creative if I don’t want to end up armless.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re completely harmless.” Steve deadpanned, and received an empty bottle of water to the face for his troubles.

Steve offered up some of his own bits and pieces of information, telling him about his friends and hobbies.

“Why didn’t you stick with painting?” Bucky wondered, slumping into the love chair sideways so he could see Steve’s face easier. “Why switch to reporting?”

Steve balanced the full sports drink he was drinking on his forehead as he spoke. “I don’t know. Just wanted a change, I think. My paintings all took a dark turn after…high school. And I wanted to focus on the good things in the world.” Steve mentally cursed at himself for almost slipping up, not wanting to think about that now.

Bucky hummed thoughtfully and didn’t call him out on the obvious misstep. “Did you?”

“Yeah, for a while. But even reporting has its downfalls too.” Steve didn’t particularly want to go into that subject now either, and was relieved when Bucky didn’t press the issue. For someone who was used to pressing others for information, Steve was surprisingly reluctant to offer his own stories.

“We should probably finish this episode.” Bucky pointed out, gesturing to the dragons on the screen.

Steve startled when he realized it was dark outside. They had been talking all afternoon, and somehow managed to stretch two episodes into hours.

They finished the episode quickly after that, and then Steve stood up, stretching.

“I guess I should go.”

Bucky blinked up at him, looking like he also just realized it was nighttime. “Sure.”

He got up as well, stretching a little bit and watched as Steve put on his shoes.

“Thanks for letting me stay a while.”

Bucky shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah. It was…nice. Even if I’m a little sore.” He gave a flirtatious grin at that, and Steve couldn’t help the chuckle he gave at it.

“I’ll get that volcano story out of you next time.” Steve promised, showing his pinky finger.

Bucky hummed noncommittally and flicked at Steve’s finger. Steve flicked at him back and then they both walked to the door.

“I guess I’ll see you around, stalker.”

“Har, har.”

“You’re the one that keeps showing up here unannounced to try and get into my pants.” Bucky pointed out, bringing his hand up to pretend to defend himself.

Steve opened his mouth to argue with him, but Bucky reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

Steve leaned into it, letting Bucky take the lead and bringing one hand up to his side. When Bucky broke the kiss, he breathed out, “Good night.”

Steve smiled and dipped in for one last peck on the lips before replying, “Good night.”

Despite their farewells, they stayed close together like that for a few more moments until a loud thunk from next door startled them into stepping back from each other.

“What the hell was that?” Steve wondered aloud, trying to guess which apartment the noise came from.

Bucky leaned back against the doorframe and nodded towards his neighbor’s door. “Probably 105.”

“Yeah, okay, what’s the deal with the blind guy?” Steve asked, remembering his first encounter with the man.

Bucky furrowed his brow. “Who, Matt? What about him?”

“Not him, but the place. I happened to see a little bit when he was going in. Why are there dildos all over the apartment?”

The look of confusion melted into understanding at that. He then explained, “Yeah, that’s all Jessica, the tenant that actually lives there. She’s out for a few days so she had Matt come take care of the place. She loves to fuck with the guy though.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That seems a little…mean.”

Bucky chuckled, “Oh yeah, completely. She’s constantly playing pranks on him. She told him he’s taking care of her cat and fish. She doesn’t have a cat, and there’s no fish in the tank, so I can only imagine how that one’ll end.”

Steve stared incredulously at Bucky. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

“Yup. But I’m sure he’ll get her back soon enough. I’m not sure what their deal is with each other, but it’s always hilarious to find out what they come up with, ha.”

Another thunk brought their attention back to the apartment.

“It sounds like he’s rearranging furniture in there or something.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up, “Oh, maybe he’s moving everything like, three inches to the left, or something. I would do that.”

“Remind me to not get on your bad side.” Steve said, shaking his head.

Bucky stepped into Steve’s space again, causing him to look up sharply. “Don’t get on my bad side.” Bucky pointed a finger right into Steve’s chest and then poked him gently on the nose.

“Happy stalking!” Bucky cheered as he stepped back into his apartment.

Steve gave him the middle finger as he turned down the hallway to head towards the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally do not understand why people eat pineapple on pizza, but I have been informed that it is something people willingly do.


	6. Man Goes On Date (What Happens Next Will Surprise You)

Steve woke up hard on Saturday morning, already thinking about Bucky.

He turned over, groaning, as he tried to exhibit some sort of control over himself. This was beyond ridiculous, and he couldn’t believe how he was behaving like a horny teenager. His hands fisted the sheets of their own accord as he tried to ground himself; unfortunately, his body had other plans. He kept jerking his hips, and it just felt so good to rub against the soft bed sheets.

Feeling overheated, Steve petulantly kicked the sheets off the bed, refusing to give in. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was clutching, and sweat started to prickle at the back of his neck.

One particularly involuntary thrust against the mattress quickly broke Steve’s resolve. Muttering to himself, “Fuck it,” Steve snuck a hand down underneath himself, slipping into his boxers in record speed.

He jacked himself off for not even a minute before he squeezed his eyes shut and went tense, coming right into his fist.

“Fuck me.” He groaned, quickly feeling disgusted by the cooling come on his hand. Laying face down in his bed with his hand still down his pants, Steve half-heartedly yelled into his pillow.

It was a great start to the weekend.

*

Steve had the weekend off, and he spent the whole time thinking about Bucky, which really was just getting to weirdly high levels of obsessions, even for Steve.

It was around ten in the morning while Steve was hunched over his cereal at his round kitchen table that he realized he didn’t actually have Bucky’s phone number. He smacked a hand to his forehead when he thought about that, not understanding how he had managed to forget to ask him for his contact information. All he had was his work phone number which he wouldn’t answer for obvious reasons, and his address.

That was how he came to the conclusion that he would just have to go back to his apartment if he wanted to talk to him again. Which he very much did. To get the story, of course. No other reason. Just for his job.

Steve wondered how much longer he was going to blatantly lie to himself because even he wasn’t buying into his flimsy excuses anymore.

Luckily for him, Sam came over early in the afternoon.

Steve immediately reversed his initial thought, and thought himself unlucky as soon as he opened the door and Sam started the conversation with, “Did you sleep with him again?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and held the door open as he flatly intoned, “Hello, Sam, so good to see you. Please, do come in.”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked right in, making himself at home as he beelined towards the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer.

“You’re killing me, Rogers.” Sam called over his shoulder as he rummaged through a kitchen drawer, pulling out a bottle opener and popping the drinks open. He threw the opener back in the drawer and closed it shut with a bump of his hips.

Steve closed the door, banging his head softly against the frame before turning and following Sam into the kitchen.

Sam jumped up and sat on the counter next to the stove while handing out one of the bottles for Steve.

“Really?” Steve asked, leaning against the kitchen island across from Sam. Sam, for his part simply shook the bottle slightly towards Steve in a silent invitation. With a heavy sigh Steve reached out and accepted the bottle before leaning back.

“Okay, Steve. What’s going on?” Sam took a drag of the beer, and then looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve started to fidget with the beer label as he spoke. “I fucked up, Sam. I just…I dunno. I really was just trying to get the story out of him, and he was such an asshole at the beginning so it wasn’t as if I had planned for anything….to happen.” Steve brought the bottle to his lips, but thought twice before actually taking a sip. Sam listened quietly, waiting for him to go on. “It was just one of those things. Like. He’s really good looking, and I just…slipped up and kind of mentioned it. And before I knew it we were just kinda going at it. And it happened again, even though I didn’t walk in there thinking it would happen. Sam, I didn’t.” He added when he caught Sam raising an eyebrow. “I just. I like him. I’ve had relationships before, you know. But with him, he’s just…different. And he’s totally using sex to avoid telling me the story.” Steve felt his mouth tug up into a grin at the end, knowing he was completely right.

Sam raised his eyebrow again and Steve’s cheeks flushed.

“You really like him.” It wasn’t a question, but Steve nodded anyway. He’d known from the beginning that he was crushing hard on this guy, and he was done lying to himself about it. Of course, he still wanted to get the story, he desperately wanted to know it and write it. But it suddenly wasn’t the driving force to wanting to see Bucky anymore. He wanted more stories than just that one.

“How do you even get yourself into these situations, man?” Sam chuckled.

Steve shrugged as he finally took a sip of his beer. Immediately after that he brought it back up to his lips and took a longer drag.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, drinking their beer and thinking. Steve hung his head for the most part, not even knowing what he should be thinking about but knowing that thinking about Bucky was probably not the correct answer.

Eventually, Sam let out a quick belch that made Steve look up.

“Let’s go watch a movie.” Sam announced, jumping off the counter to go throw his bottle in the recycling trash can.

“That’s it? No chastising of life choices? No stern look of disappointment?” Steve threw him his empty bottle, which Sam caught easily and let drop in the same trash can.

“Steve, I’m not your therapist. You know that.” He cracked a half-grin then, “And I’m always disappointed in you, so nothing new there.”

“Ugh, I forgot you suck.” Steve pushed off of the counter and walked towards the front door, bending over to pick up his shoes.

“You’re going to make your own decisions, man. Own them. Pray they don’t backfire in your face.” He followed behind Steve and watched as he started pulling on his shoes.

“What are we going to go watch, again?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” Sam promised picking up Steve’s keys for him.

*

Despite getting dragged to the movies to get his mind off of things, Saturday still melted over into Sunday, and he didn’t have the luxury of Sam to keep him company.

He vaguely entertained the thought of heading over to Bucky’s apartment, but dismissed it when it felt a little too stalker-y. At least during the week he could claim it was a work-related trip despite knowing full well what a load of shit that was. Without that excuse, though, it felt too weird.

So instead, Steve spent the entirety of the day watching shitty TV and sleeping. By evening, Steve had eaten the crappiest food in his pantry and passed it off as dinner. He briefly wondered if he should wait to watch the next episode of Game of Thrones they had left off on so that he could watch it with Bucky. He stopped that train of thought immediately, though. He had absolutely no guarantee that he’d ever watch another episode of anything with Bucky ever again, so there was no point in waiting.

Still, as he watched the show, he couldn’t help but feel lonely and cheated somehow, not enjoying it as much without snippy commentary and proposed theories being shouted at the TV screen occasionally. He finished the episode feeling empty and unsatisfied, wholly knowing it wasn’t the show’s fault.

He went to bed that night, uncomfortable and feeling unreasonably sad. He put it down to Sunday blues and set his alarm for the next day, checking it twice to make sure it was on before finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

*

Monday rolled around like usual, and by the time Steve sat down at his terminal, laptop open and ready to start the day, Steve realized he had absolutely no work to show for a solid week, seeing as he never actually got the story he meant to.

He figured he should probably write something to show that he wasn’t a complete waste of time. Rolling a pen between his fingers, he mentally went through a list of possible subjects he could write about.

He could write about that really cool gifted school he found a couple months ago, but he was saving that for when school started up again.

Or maybe he could do a piece on that group of astronauts that were planning on some cool experiments in space later this year. He’d met Susan Storm at a gala that Stark had thrown last year, and he’d immediately liked her. Her fiancée, not so much, but talking to him was always going to be a bit of a stretch, what with his busy work schedule, so he figured he could talk to the other guys in the group. He didn’t want to have too early a start on that story, though, because the public wouldn’t be as interested in the article now as much as when they were getting closer to launch. He’d just save that one for later.

He briefly entertained the thought of writing about that Queens kid that dressed up and fought petty crime like some sort of superhero-wannabe, but he didn’t want to be another one of those reporters that just hashed out the same story. The guys over at the Daily Bugle wrote about him enough. Besides, Steve didn’t really have a desire to go over to Queens for a story.

By the time the terminals around him filled up with the usual crowd, Steve had finally figured out the perfect thing. He knew exactly what he could write about, and it would be a great story to finally get out.

Pulling out his phone, Steve scrolled through his contacts. He looked through the ‘C’s at first, then the ‘D’s when he couldn’t find her name. It wasn’t until he remembered that he’d put her number in under her nickname that he scrolled down to the ‘M’s and found what he was looking for.

He tapped the number and brought the phone up to his ear. It took barely three rings before he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a while.

“Captain Danvers speaking.”

“Hey there, Carol. It’s Steve Rogers, got a minute?”

“You’re lucky I like you Rogers.” Her tinny laughter came through the little speaker, and Steve wondered why he hadn’t kept in touch with her as often as he should have. “What’s up?”

“I wanna cash in that old favor you still owe me. I think it’s time the world found out the real story behind the great Ms. Marvel.”

*

After an unusually productive day at work, Steve decided to swing by Bucky’s apartment.

Pressing the button on the intercom, Steve stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling a chill coming in. It was still a bit too early for winter, but he could tell it was just around the corner.

“Hello?” The intercom crackled to life.

“Hey, Bucky. It’s Steve. Can I come up?”

There was a moment of silence that surprised Steve, but then Bucky’s voice came back, “Yeah, come in.” A loud buzzing sound signaled that the lock had opened, and Steve wasted no time in entering the building. He took the stairs two at a time and forced himself to walk down the hall, not wanting to seem too overeager.

He gave a brief series of knocks and then waited a moment before Bucky opened the door. Steve felt the stupid grin on his face falter when he saw Bucky’s eyes were red-rimmed, and his expression was guarded, despite the sudden forced smile he put on for Steve.

“Hey.” Bucky greeted, and his voice sounded thick, as if he’d been crying. A flicker of movement drew Steve’s attention behind Bucky to a woman with striking red hair who was sitting on top of the bar counter.

“Is this…is this a bad time?” Steve started, hesitantly.

Bucky shook his head, and beckoned Steve inside. “No, not at all. Nat was just leaving.”

“Excuse me, dumbass. I am perfectly fine right here.” The woman called back, grinning like a Cheshire cat as Bucky rolled his eyes at being thrown under the bus. “You too scared to introduce us?”

Steve walked in the apartment and felt very self-conscious in his khakis and polo compared to the fashionable outfit she was sporting; her blouse was a deep green that contrasted gorgeously with her curled and pinned hair, her make-up looked flawless and fierce, her heels looked dangerous, and her jeans probably cost more than Steve’s entire wardrobe. Steve was immediately cautious of her power.

Bucky was unimpressed, throwing out nonchalantly, “Steve, this is Natasha, don’t mind her. She just likes to cause trouble wherever she goes.”

Natasha hopped off of the counter smoothly, not even phased by landing on heels, and strode right up to Steve. “Hi Steve, nice to meet you.” She held out a slender hand, her nails painted the same blood-red as her hair. Steve took her hand and shook it, intimidated.

Still, always the one to be cordial, Steve said, “Nice to finally meet you. I’m a fan of your work, and Bucky’s talked about you.”

Natasha kept grinning as she looked up and down at Steve, making him feel dissected. “Ooh I like you. Hopefully he’s only talked about the good things. Bucky’s got a tendency to exaggerate.”

“You’re such a liar.” Bucky snorted.

Natasha still hadn’t let go of Steve’s hand when she leaned in conspiratorially, “See what I mean?”

Steve chuckled nervously and tried not to sigh in relief when Natasha let him go.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Bucky interjected.

Natasha turned on him and smacked him lightly. “You’re the one that called me.”

“And I love you for coming.”

Natasha huffed out a breath of laughter and said dramatically, “Fine. I’ll leave you two to it.” She turned back to Steve, “It was so nice to meet you, Steve.”

Steve clasped his hands behind his back when he didn’t know what else to do, saying, “Likewise.”

Bucky gestured towards the door, and Natasha rolled her eyes, picking up her purse from the couch on her way to the door. Bucky followed her, opening the door for her.

Before she crossed the threshold, Natasha’s cheerful smile dropped suddenly as she said quietly, “Call me if it happens again, okay?”

Bucky closed his eyes and nodded, his expression raw, and Steve quickly turned away, not wanting to intrude on what was a painfully obvious personal moment.

After a minute, there was an obvious click as the door closed and Bucky walked to where Steve was. Steve turned around and was again struck by how miserable Bucky looked, and how hard Bucky was trying to hide it.

“Is everything okay? Really, I can go if this is a bad time.”

Bucky shook his head and gave him a big smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No, it’s fine. Nat was just being a good friend, and she came back from her trip recently so we were just catching up a bit.”

Steve was burning with curiosity to know what the real reason behind her presence in his apartment was. He knew Bucky wasn’t telling him the truth, or at least not the whole truth, but his tone was closing that conversation thread pretty quickly.

Going against his instincts to keep probing, Steve said flippantly, “She kind of terrifies me. Like, I met her for two minutes, and I get the feeling she might murder me in my sleep if she wanted to.”

That startled a shaky laugh out of Bucky as he said, “Yeah, she kind of has that effect on people. And she probably could. I wouldn’t put it past that woman.”

“Good to know.”

Bucky’s expression started drifting sad again as they fell into a moment of silence. But then he perked up and asked, “Are you hungry? I’m hungry and I wanna go out. Let’s go get dinner.”

Steve noticed the deliberate subject changed, and rolled with it, “Yeah, I’m starving.”

“Great.” Bucky turned and found his shoes, quickly lacing up the boots, suddenly hurrying. Steve briefly wondered if Bucky just wanted to get out of the apartment and this was the most convenient excuse. Again, Steve caught himself projecting onto Bucky and mentally chastised himself.

He was distracted by Bucky asking quickly, “You like Chinese? Of course you like Chinese, everybody likes Chinese. I know a great Chinese restaurant just a couple blocks away, we could go there. Unless you don’t like Chinese?” His brow furrowed at the last part as he caught his breath.

He looked like he was about to go on another rambling streak, so Steve cut in quickly, pitching his voice calmly as he said, “Bucky, it’s fine. I love Chinese.”

Bucky looked up, eyes wide and the ghost of a smile curving his lips. “Great, let’s go.”

*

They walked to the restaurant as it was such a nice night out with a cool breeze gently wafting around them. Bucky had grabbed a light jacket, and to a passerby, they wouldn’t have noticed a missing limb.

They mostly commented on the people they saw and activities going on in the streets around them. Steve could tell that Bucky was purposely not going deeper into any personal things, but at the very least the tension in his shoulders relaxed as they walked, and his expressions got lighter and lighter until he was laughing freely, hints of past worries dissipating with each step closer to the restaurant.

They had just finished ordering and bantering back and forth, teasing each other on their food preferences, when Bucky asked, “Hold on, hold on, hold on. I have a burning question for you. The other night you fucking dropped the bomb that you worked at the New York Times, and yet you now work at Buzzfeed. What gives, man? Why aren’t you working at like, a reputable establishment?”

Steve snorted and took a drink of his Coke before answering. “I see how it is, you work at National Geographic and you become so high and mighty. Throwing us low folks your scraps.”

Bucky retaliated by throwing his straw cover at Steve who easily caught it. “Spill.”

“Hmm, only if you tell me how your trip to Hawai’i was.”

Bucky flipped him off, still grinning.

Steve brought up his hands in a placating manner, “Hey, I had to try.”

He smiled when Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine. You win.” He took another drink, using it as a buffer to collects his thoughts, but after procrastinating as much as he could, Bucky kicked his shin to get the party going. “So yeah. I uh. I used to be a war reporter.”

Bucky’s eyes bugged wide open, making Steve chuckle. “Yeah, I know. Bit of a 180. Anyway, I did a lot of reporting overseas, and I was, “Steve chuckled again, “I was actually pretty good at it, I think. Made a lot of contacts, some of them good, some of them….well, let’s just say I accidentally got on first-name basis with some not-so-great people. That part was hard because I really wanted to punch them half the time, but apparently that doesn’t get you the stories that you need in order to keep your job. Though I did punch a terrorist one time. Luckily for me, the maniac thought it was hilarious, and rather than executing me, he invited me for tea. That was a really weird day.”

“You’re insane.” Bucky whispered.

“He had it coming.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” Bucky took a drink and waved a hand for Steve to keep going.

“It was great. It really was. The action was exciting and you were always pumped up on adrenaline, so it was a wild ride from start to finish. It’s just. I didn’t want to live like that all the time, you know? I just…it wasn’t the life that I actually wanted. I don’t regret it, not one bit. But I…needed a change.”

Steve smiled at the way Bucky nodded his head in agreement.

“So I came back here, to New York. Sent some résumés around and got lots of job offers. I could have stayed at the Times or have picked another great newspaper or what-have-you, but it just didn’t feel right. Then Stark offered a job and it seemed like the right change that I needed. I needed the silly and the goofy, rather than the war and terrorists and death.”

“I can understand that.” Bucky commented seriously. “I once did a series in Afghanistan, and Jesus, that was brutal.”

Steve’s interest piqued. “Yeah? What was your series on?”

Bucky blushed at realizing he’d given up a bit of work-related information, and Steve smirked. Despite that, he continued, “I spent about two weeks with some crazy sons of bitches. You might have heard of them, the Howling Commandos? They were some of the most—, why are you laughing?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed at Steve when he couldn’t help sniggering.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky demanded, kicking at Steve’s shins again when Steve laughed again.

“Nothing,” Steve finally managed, “It’s just, I also spent some time with them. Reporting them and all.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? When would this be?”

Steve’s cheeks hurt with smiling. “Late 2014.”

Bucky frowned at that, and Steve found it absolutely adorable the way his eyebrows scrunched up as he thought. Just as Steve wondered if Bucky might make the connection, Bucky exclaimed, “Oh my god, Steve Rogers, _Steven Grant Rogers_! You’re Steven Grant Rogers! _The_ Steven Grant Rogers, what the fuck. You’re the reason the Howling Commandos became so famous. You fucking coined them! All those articles about them, with their adventures and ridiculous shenanigans, and wait a minute. That means you were there for that hostage situation! That was you!”

Steve burst out laughing at Bucky’s ranting. “Yeah, I was there. Though I only tagged along while they did the real work.”

“‘Only tagged along’ give me a break. You were the fucking key to that negotiation. You knew the assholes and got them to stand down. Everybody who read that story knows that, because you couldn’t edit out their comments.”

Steve’s cheeks heated at the mention of his part. “I helped out a little bit, yeah, but they were the real heroes. They got the kids out and took out the terrorists.”

Bucky just shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking Rogers.”

They both took a drink then, Steve still grinning.

“Hey, so wait a minute.” Steve suddenly thought of something. “You’re a photographer, and you were with the Howling Commandos. Does that mean the series you did was the one that came out right after my articles? The famous ones that everybody knows?”

It was Bucky’s turn to show color on his cheeks. “I don’t know about everyone, but yeah. My greatest legacy so far.”

“That is so fucking incredible, Bucky.” Steve said, impressed. “What I did was nothing compared to you. You were technically a prisoner of war to get the pictures you got.”

Bucky shrugged, his right side coming up higher than his left. “The boys figured it out quick enough and no one was hurt. Well,” Bucky amended, “No one on our side at least.”

“Incredible.” Steve repeated.

“I can’t believe how close we were to actually meeting each other before.” Bucky pointed out.

Steve cocked his head, thinking. “You’re right, we really did just barely miss each other. Your series came out only a month after my articles which meant you would have been there, what, a couple weeks before? We missed each other by a couple of weeks. That’s ridiculous.”

“What a crazy world we live in.” Bucky agreed.

They both were still marveling over their close encounter when the food arrived.

*

“You know, the thing, I’m still…amazed by….is the fact that, you can do this….after eating, fuck.” Bucky gasped out. He was lying down in the middle of his hallway with his pants half pulled down and his cock halfway into Steve’s throat.

Steve pulled off slowly with a filthy slurp. “I have a great gag reflex.” He then licked around the head of Bucky’s cock, making Bucky groan.

“Don’t you…mean, you have, fuck, a lack, of, um… a gag reflex?” He clearly couldn’t decide between his fingers scrabbling at the wooden panes on the floor or sinking into Steve’s hair. When Steve gave an encouraging noise, Bucky opted to hold onto Steve. He rather liked having Bucky’s hand clutching onto him and he decided he’d put off cutting his hair a little longer.

Steve pulled off again, this time lightly fisting Bucky’s cock instead, his thumb rubbing firmly in the right spot underneath his cockhead that made Bucky whimper. “Do you really want to be arguing about semantics right now?”

He was kneeling right between Bucky’s spread legs, as much as he could spread them with his pants constricting too much flexibility, and he pushed himself up and over Bucky’s body to drop a kiss on Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky whined in Steve’s mouth when he squeezed harder on his cock, providing more pressure to fuck into. His cock was dripping from Steve’s mouth, making each attempt to thrust easy. As much as he was allowing Bucky to thrust, at least, with his free hand pinning him down at the hip.

“Uhhh, no?” Bucky finally got out when Steve broke the kiss and crawled back down to his cock.

“Good answer.” Steve smiled at the picture that Bucky painted: dick hanging out of his pants, hair disheveled, mouth hanging open, and eyes half-lidded over blown pupils. He gave one last swipe of his thumb and then he bent over to swallow Bucky’s cock again, not stopping until he felt his nose bump against his pubic hair.

Steve loved giving head.

_Loved it._

He was good at it, and knew just how to relax his throat enough to take a cock like a champ. But giving head to Bucky was quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world. Bucky was fucking vocal. Every swallow, lick, kiss, and hint of teeth brought about whimpers, whines, groans, and curses in the most sweetest of ways. Bucky tried desperately to muffle his reactions, and he failed miserably every time. He couldn’t hide any of his expressions either; the man was an open book, and Steve was having too much fun learning what every reaction meant and how to get it again.

For example, when Bucky was about to come, Steve learned that his thighs began to quiver sporadically and his hips started undulating ever so slightly. Bucky’s breath started hitching in the back of his throat, and he squeezed his eyes closed as if he couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. His cock also swelled just a little bit before he finally crashed into the inevitable orgasm, a mangled whimper forcing out of his throat as Steve swallowed around him, tiding him over and milking him until Bucky’s hand started pushing him weakly away.

Steve ignored him for a moment longer, listening to the way that Bucky’s hitched breaths grew into overstimulated gasps, and then pulled off, grinning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was hard himself, had been since the restaurant if he was honest, but he put it out of his mind for the moment.

Bucky looked completely sated, like a cat who got the cream, and Steve couldn’t help chuckling as he watched him stretch out a bit. Steve crawled up Bucky’s body again, and this time, when he lowered down for a kiss, he waited just a couple inches above his face.

Smiling, Bucky opened his eyes and tilted his head up, closing the distance and melting into the kiss.

When they broke apart, Bucky dropped his head back down with a soft thump and sighed, “That was fucking incredible.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Steve said as he turned to Bucky’s right side and dropped down so they were both on their backs, looking up at the ceiling.

Turning his head, Bucky looked at Steve up and down before looking back up. “Give me a minute and I’ll return the favor.”

“No rush.”

Bucky snorted at Steve’s flippant remark and gave another great sigh.

Steve reached out and intertwined his fingers with Bucky’s, who immediately caught on and made it easier, squeezing him twice before relaxing again.

“Oh hey, before I forget.” Steve started.

“What’s up?” Bucky mumbled, his eyes closing as he breathed deeply.

“Can I have your phone number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam would want you to leave a comment. Don't disappoint Sam.


	7. Area Man Needing Immediate Medical Help Remains Quiet; Doesn't Want To Inconvenience Anyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam would be proud of you guys. Well, some of you. You know who you are, you majestic golden eagles.

They spent the rest of the entire week texting each other. A lot.

It got to the point where Steve was stupidly grinning into his phone for minutes on end at work, and Sam and Clint would watch, shaking their heads.

“You’ve got a serious crush, bro.” Clint sing-songed as he stole one of Steve’s good pens.

“Don’t you have some work you need to be doing?” Steve retorted, too giddy to even be annoyed by his co-worker.

“Don’t you?” Clint shot back.

Steve flipped him off, saying, “By the way, I met your scary girlfriend. How’d that even happen?”

Clint mimed zipping his mouth closed and pointedly looked at Steve’s phone that had just vibrated and lit up with another message.

Steve ignored Clint and opened the text. They’d been exchanging puns and bad jokes for the past twenty minutes.

_you can’t force a volcano pun, steve. volcano puns should flow._

Steve snorted and began to type out a reply, not paying attention to Clint who had caught Sam’s attention to come over.

_Did you know you can eat lava? But only once…_

Steve felt rather proud of that one and hit send. When he looked up he saw both Clint and Sam staring at him.

“What?” Steve asked, trying not to sound so defensive.

“You’re an idiot.” Sam replied as he tugged Clint off of Steve’s desk and pushed him in the direction of his desk.

Steve was about to argue something really clever, or so he thought, but his phone lit up again, distracting him.

_good one. did you have to look that one up?_

Steve rolled his eyes and wrote back: _No. Don’t have a meltdown about it. We can’t all be as smart as me._

When Steve finally looked up to talk to Sam, he realized that he was alone. Looking around he saw both Sam and Clint were sitting back at their terminals and Steve felt vaguely guilty.

The guilt lessened when his phone announced another text yet again.

_it sounds like youre listening to some johnny ash right now_

Steve had to reread that one before he cracked up. He thought about what else he could send back. Tipping his head back on his seat, Steve closed his eyes. He opened them again when he felt the silent vibration from his phone.

_i hope i’m not int-erupting anything_

Steve laughed out loud at that one, quieting down when Scott gave him an odd look.

_Does this mean you’re my lava now?_

He looked at the conversation text and wondered if that pun was too obscure. He sent another one immediately.

_Get it? Like lover?_

He sent it without thinking and then froze, wondering if he just accidentally crossed a line. Before he had too much time to panic, however, Bucky had sent a reply.

_oh definitely. youre hands down the best catch._

Steve couldn’t help grinning like a love-struck idiot at the text.

_Nice. I expected nothing less from an arms dealer._

This time it took a little longer before Steve got another reply.

_hilarious. i g2g now. talk later?_

Steve shot another text back agreeing that he’d still be here, and finally put his phone down.

*

The week went by both slowly and quickly, Steve thought.

He really did text Bucky all week, though, because Bucky had gone upstate to visit his parents for a week and change. Bucky would send Steve some hilarious pictures that included some farm land with animals, his childhood room, and incriminating photos of what Steve assumed was his family. But on the flip side, it meant that Bucky was gone the whole week. For that reason, time dragged on and he found himself missing seeing Bucky, but seeing his phone light up was always the best part of Steve’s day.

*

It barely took a day or two for their texts to turn dirty; Steve was just horny enough, and Bucky seemed to match it if his jokes were any indication. They alternated between innuendos and puns, and Steve was laughing more than not.

By the time Friday came, Steve was actually dreading the weekend, knowing he’d be spending it alone. He got through the day and was just wondering if he should invite Sam or Clint out for drinks when both of them sidled up his work space almost at the exact same time.

“Hey Romeo, are you working late tonight?” Sam asked. Then, before Steve could answer, he added, “Oh wait, that would require you actually doing some work. You know, the kind that you’re paid to do.”

“I’ll have you know I’m working on an article at the moment. Actually a couple, since my main one is going to take me a little longer.”

“A likely excuse.” Sam grinned, “Anyway, they’re redoing some security measures like McAfee or something on all our computers this weekend, so make sure to back up any important. Not that you have anything important or anything.” Sam deadpanned.

Steve groaned, but he knew that Sam was just being a pain at this point. “Hilarious. You’re a comedian.” He threw an eraser at Sam.

Clint was inspecting his fingernails when he mentioned, “Hey, did you know that one of the biggest anti-virus software is Russian?”

Both Sam and Steve raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know that?” Sam asked. Clint just shrugged.

“So…” Steve began, “Does that mean that they’re going to be….in- _stalin_ ….the software this weekend?”

Sam groaned and looked up at the ceiling as if the gods would save him from this hell. “You officially suck, man,”

“I’m on a pun roll this week.”

“Officially.” Sam reiterated.

“Are we gonna keep lingering here or are we going to go somewhere? I’m hungry.” Clint complained.

Steve and Sam chuckled.

“I could definitely go for some drinks right about now.” Steve said hopefully.

Sam nodded in agreement. “Hell yeah, I’ll take that offer.”

Clint jumped up and down like a little kid, exclaiming, “Sweet! Let’s go!”

*

Steve had promised to take Bucky to the Met when he came back because it had come up in a conversation that it was one of Steve’s favorite places in the city.

 So that following Monday, Steve took off work early to greet Bucky who had come to his workplace.

As soon as Steve walked out, he spotted Bucky and headed over towards him. He had been loitering around the building’s entrance with his hand tucked into his light jacket. The empty sleeve on his left side was tucked into his pocket as well, giving the illusion of both hands tucked in. It wasn’t until you looked harder that you could tell he was missing a limb.

“Hey.” Steve said as soon as he walked up to Bucky. Bucky startled for a moment and then his whole face lit up when he recognized Steve.

“Hey! I was afraid I missed you or something.” Steve walked right up to him and gave him a hug, relishing the fact that Bucky returned it with as much emphasis as he was putting into the hug.

“Nope. Were you waiting long?” Steve asked, reluctantly pulling away when their hug started to last longer than what was probably socially acceptable.

“Nah, I got here early. You ready?” Bucky’s cheeks were a pleasant rosy pink, but Steve doubted it was from the slight chill in the air.

“Yeah. I was thinking we could take the subway.”

They chatted along the way, with Bucky regaling Steve with family stories he hadn’t mentioned before in their texts. By the time they reached their stop, they were both laughing hard enough that they were receiving quick glances from the people around them.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here, and say you were a science nerd as a child.” Steve had put a hand to his chest as he laughed.

“First off, I’m _still_ a science nerd, and second of all, how dare you rub your limbs in my face, good sir.”

Steve almost missed his step as he mentally rewinded what he’d just said, and then started laughing again.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I offend you? Are you _all right_?”

Bucky’s eyes widened and then cackled, his right hand coming up to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to keep quiet.

Steve continued, “I know you lost your arm there, Buck, but look on the bright side, on the other hand you’re completely fine.”

“Stop! Oh my god, I can’t!” Bucky doubled over, and Steve was so glad that Bucky wasn’t offended by the jokes, because a woman walking past them shot Steve the nastiest glare before looking at Bucky with a confused expression, as if wondering why she had to be indignant on his behalf.

Steve ignored her, and Bucky didn’t even see her, so he shrugged it off. Bucky didn’t care, so why should he?

“How do you even come up with these? I’ve been armless for months and I still haven’t heard some of these.” He was still giggling when Steve slipped his arm with his to direct him in the right direction. A few people had already grumbled as they pointedly walked around them because they were walking so slowly.

“I guess you could say I’m armed and dangerous.” Steve replied smoothly, and he couldn’t help joining in with Bucky’s renewed laughter. It was simply too contagious.

By the time they reached the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bucky suddenly stopped and exclaimed, “I got one!”

Steve turned and faced Bucky, waiting.

“I’ll tell you,” Bucky began, “but you gotta stay at an arm’s length away.” He broke down laughing as he said it, amused by his own joke.

Steve chuckled, “Sure thing, Buck,” and sidled right up to his left side, one arm going around his back to pull him in even closer. Bucky’s breath hitched and his laughter died suddenly, taken off guard by Steve’s advance.

“Hey.” He said, his eyes staring right at Steve’s lips before he dragged them up to meet his eyes. They were only few inches away from each other like this.

“Hey.” Steve echoed, and closed the distance, fitting his lips against Bucky’s and enjoying the small, pleased sound that Bucky made.

When he broke off the kiss, he could see Bucky’s pupils were blown wide, and his cheeks were definitely pink.

“Wanna see some art?” Steve breathed.

“I like the one I’m seeing.” Bucky replied, and Steve groaned, closing his eyes.

“Smooth, Barnes.”

Bucky grinned unrepentantly and soon they were waiting in line to buy their tickets.

They spent the entire afternoon in the museum, and Steve felt like a little kid again. He kept dragging Bucky from exhibit to exhibit, animatedly telling him the history of his favorite pieces, and offering his own criticisms about certain artists.

It was halfway during a particularly praising soliloquy about Monet’s Water Lily Pond that Steve stopped himself in the middle of a sentence and asked, “I’m not boring you, am I? God, I’ve been talking nonstop all day, you must be—”

“Steve, hey, hold on.” Bucky interrupted. Steve looked up, realizing he had hung his head self-consciously. Bucky stepped in close to Steve, grinning. “I fucking love hearing you talk about this. You’re so passionate and you know so much.”

Steve shrugged, but Bucky kept going, “No really. If I had come here by myself or something, I’d probably be bored because I don’t know anything about art. But listening to you makes it so much more interesting, and you make me like it. I love it. I promise.”

Steve looked at Bucky’s earnest face and realized he wasn’t lying. Then Bucky grabbed one of Steve’s hands and brought it up to his mouth, dropping a kiss on the back of his hand like a courteous prince, and it served to elicit a smile out of Steve.

“Okay.” Steve allowed. “But let me know if I get too much. I could talk forever.”

Bucky smirked playfully and promised, “I will. You were saying?”

Without further prompting, Steve jumped right back into the Pond.

*

After the museum, they decided to go to the park next door.

They were both of them walking side by side, commenting on the leaves that were just starting to change colors, when Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s. It was so subtle and normal that Steve thought to himself that it felt right. Why shouldn’t they hold hands? It just felt like the next natural step to take.

“That guy’s selling ice cream. Want some?” Steve asked as they strolled down the path.

Bucky looked sideways at Steve and nodded, smiling. It wasn’t even that hot out anymore, but they didn’t care. Bucky paid for Steve’s ice cream since Steve had gotten them into the museum, and then they were teasing each other about their flavors.

“I can’t believe you got strawberry.” Bucky said, scrutinizing Steve’s choice. “That’s such a basic flavor. Nobody gets strawberry.”

“Well excuse me, not everyone can stomach, what even is that? Diabetes?”

Bucky looked mock affronted. “This is salted caramel double fudge death by chocolate, thank you very much.”

“Like I said. Diabetes.” Bucky checked Steve’s shoulder, careful not to jostle him too much in case his ice cream fell.

“I would have gone for the Nutella ice cream, but they were out.” Bucky’s mouth twisted slightly and his eyebrows drew together in a light frown, as if he was contemplating something serious. He probably was, since Steve found out through their texting that Bucky’s relationship with Nutella was not something to rival with.

“You and your chocolate.” Steve poked at Bucky who immediately smiled and tried to lick Steve’s cone.

They both giggled at acting like children and enjoyed their ice creams. The sun was just starting to set, casting shadowed fingers across their path, and joggers were taking the opportunity to come out in droves.

When Bucky finished his ice cream he trotted away from Steve to toss it in a waste basket. On his way back he had to dodge a cyclist and then he was back in step with Steve. He stopped, however, when Steve paused, looking up to see what the holdup was. His eyes were big and curious as he stood still while Steve reached a hand out slowly to thumb a bit of chocolate that had streaked down his chin.

Steve brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it, tasting the sickeningly sweet sugar, and being unsurprised by Bucky’s choice.

“Not too horrible.” Steve remarked.

“A rousing compliment if I ever heard one.”

Bucky grinned and leaned in to give a quick peck on Steve’s lips, but his intentions fell flat as he brought his hand up to keep Steve close. Steve didn’t mind and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, tugging him tighter. Bucky smiled into the kiss as he went up on his tiptoes to be more even with Steve. There wasn’t too much of a difference in their height, but it was enough for them to make jokes about it.

Bucky was grinning and laughing and kissing Steve, seemingly happy, which was why Steve immediately knew something was wrong when Bucky stiffened and groaned in pain.

“Bucky?” Steve pulled back enough to look at Bucky’s face which had contorted into harsh lines as he shut his eyes tightly. “Hey, Bucky, what’s wrong?”

Bucky gasped out sharply before panting in short bursts, his hand clutching too tight on Steve’s shoulder. He whimpered and then doubled over, losing his grip on Steve. Steve caught him before he could lose his balance, holding him upright.

“Bucky, c’mon, talk to me. How can I help?” Steve was trying not to let panic wash over him because that wasn’t what Bucky needed at the moment. A couple people passing by slowed down, looking over worryingly. Steve wondered if he was going to have to ask someone to call an ambulance.

Bucky was shaking now, and when Steve lifted his head a little bit, he could see that Bucky was sobbing, tears leaking from closed eyes as he shuddered out gasping breaths.

“Bucky! It’s okay, you’re safe, we’re in New York.” Steve didn’t know if Bucky was having a flashback or an episode, so he tried anchoring him.

He quickly caught on to what was going on, however, once Bucky gritted out between heaving breaths, “It b—burns, S—Steve!”

A brief flicker of confusion flew through Steve’s mind before he saw Bucky’s right hand wrap around himself tightly; he would have been holding onto his left arm, had he had one there.

Sudden understanding dawned on Steve.

_Phantom pain._

Steve didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of: he held onto Bucky.

He slipped an arm under Bucky’s right armpit, letting him hold onto his shoulder and back again, a poor parody of their earlier embrace, and cupped the back of Bucky’s head and neck, pulling him against his chest and letting him cry in a modicum of privacy.

Steve waved off the growing crowd of concerned onlookers, saying, “It’s okay, we’ve got it.” Most of the people seemed to take that at face value and the small crowd dispersed.

A couple of stragglers stayed behind to ask Steve, “Do you need us to call anyone?”

“Thank you,” Steve said, appreciative of their help, but too focused on Bucky shaking against him to really show it, “but we’ll be fine.” The stragglers looked unconvinced, but turned and left when they noticed Bucky gripping Steve tightly.

Steve turned his attention back to Bucky, whispering, “Shh, it’s okay. You heard me, you’re going to be fine, just breathe.”

Bucky’s breath kept hitching wetly as he shook his head against Steve’s sternum.

Steve didn’t know how long phantom pains usually lasted, so he just kept talking to Bucky, trying to calm him down. “I’ve got you, you’re safe. C’mon, breathe. Breathe in with me, I know you can do it. Breathe out. Let’s try this, breathe in…c’mon breathe out.” He kept it up, exaggerating his own breaths so Bucky could feel them.

Bucky tried, Steve noticed, he really tried to match Steve’s breaths, but every time he seemed to finally get it under control, another wave of pain seem to flood him and he gasped out desperately, whining in the back of his throat as he pressed harder against Steve.

“Shh,” Steve tried to be soothing, holding tight. Bucky’s breath was edging closer to hyperventilation, and when Bucky’s knees buckled again, dropping his weight suddenly, Steve looked around and saw a park bench only a couple feet away. He knew Bucky should sit down or lie down, and standing in the middle of the walkway was probably not the best spot to be in.

“C’mon, Bucky, just follow me, you’re okay.” Steve knew Bucky had no idea what Steve was doing as they shuffled closer to the empty bench, but it didn’t take too much to maneuver him to sit down next to Steve, who still had his arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s frame.

“Hey, look at me, Bucky, breathe.” Steve shifted his hands so he was cupping Bucky’s face, gently tipping him upwards so Bucky could look at him. His face was a mess, blotchy red coloring his skin, his eyes wide and wet, and his nose running from crying so much. Steve simply wiped away his tears and rubbed his jaw back and forth with his thumbs before he leaned in and pressed light kisses on Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky shuddered and gripped Steve’s arm hard, pushing himself in closer to Steve, twisting himself to fit better. Steve simply adjusted their positions, uncomfortable as it was, and tucked him in close, pressing more kisses onto Bucky’s hair when he ducked his head into the crook of Steve’s neck. He alternated between whispered words of encouragement and presses of kisses where he could reach, never once letting him out of his embrace.

Slowly, so slowly, Steve heard Bucky’s ragged breathing get quieter, calming as the minutes stretched out. His hurt whimpers lessened until he wasn’t making noises anymore; his full-body shaking finally dying down to gentle tremors that only flared up for a moment every now and again.

Bucky’s weight grew heavier and heavier on Steve as he let himself relax, and Steve only encouraged it, trying to make it as comfortable as possible for Bucky. The sun had fully gone down, and the park’s lights had flickered on, illuminating the path dimly, by the time that Bucky gave a heavy, fortified sigh and made to sit up.

Steve let him move, helping him ease into it.

“’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled eventually, his eyes downcast, and his voice hoarse.

Steve reached out and cupped Bucky’s face again, waiting until Bucky briefly made eye contact. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Buck.” Steve told him seriously. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky brought his hand up to hold onto Steve’s, and then they were threading their fingers together, bringing them down to rest between their laps. “Better.” Bucky whispered. He hesitated before elaborating, “Like shit. But better. It’s not usually that bad…it just…” He trailed off when another shudder rippled through him. It was getting a little chilly with the night breeze, so Steve pulled gently, and Bucky easily went, tucking his head under Steve’s chin, this time in a more comfortable position.

“Does it happen often?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky hummed in his throat and then said, “Not too often. But more than I’d like. Obviously.” Another shiver ran through him, but Steve could feel his heartbeat calming down, so he knew the worst had passed.

“Is that why Natasha was over the other day?” Steve asked as things clicked into place.

Bucky nodded a little miserably. “Yeah, I called her. It’s easier if someone else is there.”

Steve squeezed his hand. “Good thing I was here then.” Bucky squeezed back and made a soft agreeing noise.

“Thank you.” He whispered, full of sincerity.

“Any time, Buck. You’ve got me now.” Steve kissed Bucky’s hair, and then asked, “Do you want to go home or stay here for a little bit longer?”

Bucky snuggled in. “Don’ wanna go home yet.” After a breath, he tacked on, “Please?”

Steve smiled, kissing his hair again, “Yeah, we can stay. Just relax.”

Bucky nodded against Steve and did just that. The two of them sat there, watching people walk past on the path, some of them night joggers, others walking their dogs. The shrill screams of happy children were replaced by the faraway city sounds, a peaceful backdrop to their little scene.

After some time had passed, Bucky offered up, “I hate that I can’t go back to work yet. It’s driving me crazy, I get so bored not being able to do what I love to do. Every time I think I’m finally getting my head wrapped around this whole ‘missing arm’ thing, I get another curveball thrown at me. And I can’t fucking catch it.”

“Well that’s understandable, when you lose your left arm, your right is left.” Steve murmured and felt vindicated when Bucky let out a startled huff of a laugh. He nodded and they both fell silent again.

This time, Steve was the one to break the silence. “I know what it’s like to be thrown into the deep end with no sense of direction.” Bucky tipped his head towards Steve, giving him his full attention. Steve, however, kept staring straight ahead as he continued, “I was….left floundering…when my. When my mom died.” He took a moment to breathe in deeply, while Bucky squeezed his hand comfortingly. “I was an only child growing up. My dad died before I was born, and Ma died when I was in high school. It was…hard. Really hard, to find something grounding. I didn’t really have anyone left.”

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand to touch his face, barely exerting any pressure before Steve finally met his eyes. “You’ve got me now, though.” Bucky said with a small smile, and Steve couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, I do. Thank you.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky’s lips, noticing how chapped and cold they were. Pulling back he asked, “You want to go home? I’m getting chilly.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve for letting him off the hook but he nodded his acquiescence.

They both got up slowly and made their way to the subway. They were in no hurry, and they were quiet for the most part, offering up a comment or short anecdote that came to mind. When they were sitting together on the subway, Steve next to Bucky in the corner of the car, Bucky told him about the time when he almost froze to death.

“How did that even happen?” Steve’s eyes were wide.

Bucky chuckled as he admitted, “I was in the Alps, doing a series on World War II-era modes of transportation. Some assignment I got. There was a replica of an old train that did the rounds along the track, and with some creative thinking I could get the right angle to filter the photo and make it look like the original. Only I fucked up with the timing and was out there a bit longer than I was strictly supposed to. Nearly froze my balls off.”

“That’s crazy.” Steve whispered, and Bucky’s grin reached his eyes.

“Almost as crazy as stalking a guy for a story and then sleeping with him?”

Steve groaned and shook his head. “I’m never going to live this down…”

Bucky’s grin widened as he said, “Nope,” and popped the ‘p’ loudly. Steve chuckled and the subway ride was over before they knew it. They were at Steve’s stop, and they were still holding hands, so Steve tightened his grip.

“Do you want to come up? That way you don’t have to go home at night.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled in mirth, “So sweet of you, protecting me from the dark scary night.”

 Steve rolled his eyes but was pleased when Bucky hopped off the car with him, still holding his hand.

Luckily, it wasn’t a far walk to Steve’s apartment.

“This looks fancy.” Bucky commented as they walked past the doorman who gave a lazy salute to Steve.

“It’s really not.” Steve mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up a little bit. He knew he lived in a nice part of town, but sometimes he felt like an outsider just pretending.

They leaned against each other as they waited for the elevator to arrive. When it did, they stepped inside, and Steve barely had enough time to press his floor’s button before they were kissing, slow and deliberate, heedless of the doors closing and the lift moving.

Steve crowded Bucky up against the back of the elevator, holding onto the railing to pin Bucky in between and pressing in close. Bucky’s hand slid up Steve’s face, holding him close as he deepened the kiss and rolled his hips up against Steve. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, and Steve knew that Bucky was getting just as hard as he was when a very polite cough startled them into separating. They hadn’t even felt the elevator stop moving.

“Excuse me.” A young voice drifted into the elevator car, and Steve felt his heart thud uncomfortably for a moment as he flushed in embarrassment when he realized who it was.

“Hi, Kamala.” Steve murmured, not quite able to look at the teenager in the eyes.

Kamala didn’t seem to have the same reservations as Steve as she brightly announced, “I think this is your stop, Steve.”

Steve nodded and grabbed Bucky’s hand, gently pulling him out onto the hallway, while Kamala graciously moved out of the way.

“Thank you.” Steve mumbled at Kamala.

“Of course. Have fun!” She called cheerily as she got into the elevator they were just in. As soon as the doors closed on her, Steve let out a hysterical laugh and covered his face.

Bucky, of course, let go of Steve’s hand to poke him in the stomach with an unabashed grin on his face. “Who was that?”

His voice was teasing, and Steve couldn’t help but snort. “Kamala. The Khan’s are my neighbors. I help her with her homework sometimes.”

Steve felt his hands being pulled down and looked up to see Bucky’s happy face. It was such a contrast to his earlier pain, and Steve was beyond grateful to see that smile again.

“Why are you so sweet?” Bucky asked earnestly, his eyes looking back and forth between Steve’s.

“Why, you want a taste?” Steve quipped, and Bucky snickered.

“Where’s your place? Maybe I’ll lick you there.” He dropped his tone to something low and wanting and winked at Steve who suddenly forgot about playing coy. He simply dug into his pockets for his apartment key and walked down the hallway.

Bucky followed close behind.

“'m right here.” Steve gestured redundantly when he stopped his door.

“616? So close being Satan’s neighbor, huh?” Bucky smirked and stopped right up against Steve, so close that Steve could feel Bucky’s hard-on against his thigh.

Steve was speechless, “Uh. Um, yeah.” He finally got the key in the lock and turned it, almost tripping over himself to get into the apartment.

He barely stepped foot over the threshold before Bucky spun him around and was kissing him. It had an edge of desperation tinged in it, and Steve matched it completely, both of them stumbling through the door, grasping at each other. Steve barely managed to swing the door shut, too preoccupied by Bucky’s mouth on his throat, leaving sharp little nips that made him groan unabashedly.

“Bed. Now.” Steve murmured as he pulled Bucky by his belt buckle through the apartment. Bucky made an approving noise and tugged at Steve’s shirt, bringing him in for another searing kiss.

They only managed to trip one time through the dark apartment, but that could have been because Steve finally undid Bucky’s pants and shoved them down his thighs, leaving Bucky to shimmy out of them as they moved. Breathing out a chuckle, Bucky kicked his pants off completely and pushed Steve up against a hallway wall to kiss him, hand tangling itself in Steve’s hair.

“Fuck, I need you.” Bucky hitched out, his hips rolling against Steve’s. The thin barrier of his boxers did absolutely nothing to stop Steve from feeling his erection rubbing up against his crotch, and Steve _wanted_.

Steve slid his hands down to Bucky’s ass, squeezed once and then lifted him up against him. Without missing a beat, Bucky rolled with it, bumping his knees against the wall behind Steve, and then crossing his ankles around him when he began to move.

They kissed as Steve haltingly took them through the hallway to his bedroom, bumping against the walls when Steve got too distracted. Neither of them seemed to mind, breaking apart to giggle when it happened and then losing their breath when the other reclaimed their kisses.

Finally, they made it to the bedroom and then Steve’s knees were knocking against the edge of the bed; Steve felt himself go off balance, and not wanting to crush Bucky, he twisted mid-fall and landed on his back, letting Bucky bounce on top of him.

“Smooth, Rogers.” Bucky chuckled, disentangling his legs from behind Steve’s back so that they weren’t in such an awkward position. It meant that Bucky was then effectively straddling Steve’s hips, something Bucky realized quickly as he grinned and rolled his hips purposefully.

“I do…my best.” Steve groaned, letting his hands roam up and down Bucky’s thighs, whining when his fingers reached his boxers because they were in the way.

Bucky smirked and pulled on Steve’s shirt, saying, “Take yours off and I’ll take mine off.”

Steve felt his eyes widening and his cock throbbing at the quiet promise and quickly scrambled to shed his shirt, forgetting about finesse. He threw his shirt over the side of the bed in a hurry, only pausing when he saw Bucky was frozen. The room was gently illuminated by the city lights from outside, and the shadows danced along Bucky’s face, almost obscuring his open mouth.

“What?” Steve asked, wondering what Bucky had seen to make him stop like that.

Bucky’s response was to look straight into Steve’s eyes, expression in awe as he whispered, “You’re fucking _gorgeous_.”

That startled a laugh out of Steve. “So are you, babe.”

Bucky shook his head and Steve was about to argue when Bucky dipped down and licked a stripe along Steve’s sternum, making him lose whatever thought he’d been on.

“Fuuuuck,” Steve gasped when Bucky’s teeth scrapped lightly across his overheated skin. His hand came to cup Bucky’s head when he began to worry at one of Steve’s nipples, the shock of it tingling down Steve’s spine to settle in his groin.

He felt Bucky grin against his skin, and then he was kissing his way down Steve’s body, occasionally stopping to nip or lick, raising Steve’s sensitivity ten-fold. Bucky supported himself with his arm propped up next to Steve’s hip, and when he reached the low rise of Steve’s jeans, Bucky pulled himself up and pulled at the button and zipper, undoing them and then tugging obviously down.

“Take it off.” Bucky ordered lowly, and Steve’s hands immediately reached down to take them off, made awkwardly with Bucky still straddling him.

“You’re supposed to take something off too, if I remember correctly.” Steve murmured, sitting up and displacing Bucky so he ended up sprawled backwards in between Steve’s legs. Bucky laughed and reached down to tug his boxers off at the same time that Steve pulled down both his jeans and underwear at the same time, leaving his cock free to bob up straight.

Bucky twisted to fling his boxers in the same direction that Steve threw his clothes, and then was sitting up again, his legs sliding to rest atop of Steve’s thighs. Steve pulled him in closer and he felt their cocks barely touch, the implication strong enough to propel him into another passionate kiss. Bucky responded in kind and then pushed against Steve; Steve let him, going back down until they were in the same position as before with Bucky over him, except this time with blessedly less clothes, their cocks definitely sliding against each other’s now.

“Fuck, tell me you have lube.” Bucky grunted as he raked his nails against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve gasped at the sharp sensation. “I have lube.” He reached a hand out uselessly in the direction of his bedside table, but he was too far and let his hand drop when he realized it. Bucky snorted and leaned over, flopping on top of Steve in order to reach the drawer which luckily was on Bucky’s right side so he could open it easily. He pulled out the tube of lube that was readily available, something that Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve for when he straighten back up.

“What? Sue me for having a libido.” Steve said, mock defensively.

Bucky hummed, “Nah, your libido is what I want.” He uncapped the tube against his thigh and managed to squeeze a bit out onto his fingers one-handed, rubbing them to warm up a bit before he reached behind himself, closing his eyes in concentration.

Steve’s retort died in his throat as he watched Bucky prep himself, his thighs flexing around Steve’s and his arm’s muscles bunching up as he tried to get the angle right.

“Goddamn.” Steve breathed, jerking his hips upwards unconsciously as he watched Bucky swallow thickly and let out quiet grunts.

Steve needed to touch him, his hands roaming over Bucky’s thighs, thumbs dipping into the crease in his groin and then sliding up underneath the shirt Bucky was still wearing. He got as far as his stomach, tight with working muscles, before he started bunching up Bucky’s shirt, intending to lift it off so he could touch more.

As he made to do that, however, Bucky made a negating sound in his throat, “Nu-uh, I need you now.”

He pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheets before planting his palm right in the middle of Steve’s chest, supporting his weight so he could lift himself over Steve’s groin. “Help me out.” Bucky ordered. Steve put away the thought that Bucky was deflecting, and reached a hand down to grip his cock, positioning it up so Bucky could slowly lower himself onto Steve.

It was hot and tight, and Steve felt like he was going to come on the spot with the overwhelming sensations. They both groaned loudly as Bucky began to settle evenly on Steve’s cock, and after a few breathless moments, he was finally fully seated, his ass touching the tops of Steve’s thighs.

“Fuck me,” Steve breathed, a shudder rolling through him as he settled his hands on Bucky’s hips, fingers digging in.

“That’s the idea.” Bucky murmured and then opened his eyes to wink at Steve.

“I’d say you’re the worst, but…” Steve trailed off with a moan when Bucky shifted slightly.

“You’d be lying. And a hypocrite.” Bucky finally moved purposefully, lifting himself up and then sinking back down, his fingernails catching on Steve’s chest. Steve gasped, moving his hips to find the counterpoint to Bucky’s undulations, and before long they fell into a rhythm.

Words failed as gasps and moans replaced them, the night air filled with skin slapping skin and hot, breathy sounds. Bucky looked absolutely decadent as he rode Steve, his entire body lithely shifting and contracting with effort. A sheen of sweat shimmered over Bucky’s arms and thighs, and Steve knew he wasn’t any better if the way Bucky’s hand started to slip was any indication. Leaving one hand firmly on Bucky’s hip to keep him centered, Steve brought his other hand up to Bucky’s wrist and pulled, robbing Bucky of his balance so he fell forward with a huff of breath. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back and brought his knees up to gain leverage, driving up into Bucky hard.

Bucky whimpered at the change in angle and buried his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and shoulder, his arm reaching out to grip the slats in the headboard in some semblance of steadying himself. Steve was unrelenting, keeping Bucky pinned to his chest, and snapping his hips up sharply, relishing in each whine forced out of Bucky’s throat. He felt Bucky’s tongue dash out a couple times, licking up the sweat along Steve’s neck.

Bucky’s cock smeared precome along Steve’s stomach, trapped as it was between them, and Bucky’s shirt had ridden up halfway up his chest. Steve took the opportunity to touch his bare back, scratching down lines when he realized there was no purchase. Bucky whimpered again, trying to regain control, but Steve spread his legs further apart, which only served to stretch Bucky out helplessly as his legs were still tangled with Steve’s.

With one hand, Steve grabbed Bucky by the hair and gently pulled him away from the hidden safety of his shoulder, forcing him to look at Steve in the face. Bucky’s eyes were glassy and unfocused, and his lips were shiny with spit and blood-red with how much he’d gnawed on them. He looked absolutely debauched with his hair falling across his face uncaringly, and Steve couldn’t stand it anymore, bringing Bucky down so he could catch his mouth in a sloppy kiss. Both of them were too far gone to be careful or good at the kiss; too much desperation and teeth and misses to be perfect, and that was what made it perfect.

Steve groaned into Bucky mouth as he sped up, snapping his hips at an unforgiving speed, and felt Bucky moan back in response. It didn’t take any more thrusts before Bucky whined desperately and then fell silent. Steve felt his cock twitch as much as it could between them and Bucky’s mouth fell slack. Warmth spread, leaving the spot slick and wet, and when Bucky tightened suddenly around his cock, Steve was just as lost, following Bucky down and coming hard.

Steve closed his eyes, reveling in the pleasure and trying to catch his breath. His heart was beating hard in his chest, and he could feel Bucky’s doing the same. He relaxed his grip on Bucky’s hair who immediately let his face rest back against Steve’s shoulder, his mouth agape, hot breaths coming against Steve’s neck.

As they both came down, Steve felt his cock soften and slip out of Bucky, making the man on top of him make a quiet noise at the feeling. Realizing that they were still in the same strenuous— and now slightly awkward— position, Steve very gently lowered and closed his legs stretching out so he could let Bucky relax completely. Bucky hummed distractedly and released his hold on the headboard, only to bring his hand down and hold onto Steve’s shoulder, next to where he was resting his head. Steve, in turn, began to pet Bucky’s hair, smoothing down the unruly and damp strands that had strayed during sex. His other hand began to rub soothingly along Bucky’s side, not going further up than where the t-shirt was still bunched, but not caring if he went as low as his ass.

“Fuck.” Steve managed finally, trailing his fingers over Bucky’s sweat-damp skin that was slowly drying and starting to raise goosebumps.

“Yeah.” Bucky mumbled in agreement from where his mouth was pressed against Steve.

“That was fantastic.” Steve said, awe coloring his voice.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice was slurred and quiet.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, hoping he hadn’t gone too rough for him there at the end.

“Yeah.” Bucky answered readily enough, sighing deeply before elaborating, “’M fucked out, Steve. An’ sore. ‘S good, promise.”

Steve chuckled a little bit at the dopey way Bucky was talking, and felt rather proud he could get him that tired.

“Okay.”                                  

They laid there in comfortable silence, feeling their adrenaline bleeding as they listened to the quiet city sounds drifting up from outside. The shadows on the walls bounced every now and again, but typically stayed still. Muffled television sounds could be heard through walls, and the regular sounds of the apartment melted into the background of it all. After a little while, Steve realized his leg was falling asleep, and he figured Bucky was probably not in the best position, so he started to shift them sideways.

That earned Steve a plaintive whine, however, “Nooo, I was comfy…”

Laughing, Steve said, “I know, but this’ll be better, I promise.”

Bucky grumbled, but he let Steve manhandle him until they were lying side by side on the bed, facing each other. He made sure to settle Bucky on his right side so he didn’t put any pressure on his left, not knowing how sensitive the area might be and not wanting to accidentally trigger another episode. Steve stretched his arm out and let Bucky rest his head on it like a pillow. When they were settled, Bucky opened his eyes halfway before letting out a huge yawn right in Steve’s face.

Steve thought it was fucking adorable, and again felt slightly victorious at being the cause for Bucky’s exhaustion.

“We should’ve been doing that ages ago.” Bucky murmured, a slight note of disappointment in his voice.

“We have been. You sure you’re okay?” Steve pointed out, making Bucky snort.

“Yeah, but it’s the first time we made to a bed.”

Steve nodded, “That’s true. But I don’t need a bed to fuck you. We’ve established that.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” Bucky trailed off, and Steve had no idea where he was going with that train of thought. Neither did Bucky, it seemed, because he fell silent and tucked his head in to kiss Steve’s bicep.

They laid there again, letting the silence settle around them when Steve’s phone startled them alert.

“Fuck, I don’t want to get that.” Steve groaned, not moving to look for his phone that was probably in the jeans he threw on the floor earlier.

“Then don’t.” Bucky awkwardly reached out and let his hand flop on Steve’s chest, making vague motions to keep him there.

Steve looked at Bucky’s peaceful face, brows scrunched up a little in the middle, and it only served to solidify his resolve. “Okay,” he whispered and leaned in to press a kiss against Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky hummed contently. “Who’s even calling you this late anyway?”

“Probably Sam. My friend from work, remember?” Bucky nodded at the same time a thought dawned on Steve, “Wait, how late is it?”

Steve craned his neck around to look at his old digital clock on the bedside table and groaned at the time.

“Fuck, I have work in the morning.”

“Noooo, stay with me.” Bucky griped good-naturedly. “What are you even doing at work, anyway? It’s not like you’re getting my lava story.”

Steve turned to face Bucky again, smiling, “Not yet, I haven’t.” Bucky rolled his eyes and then stared at Steve.

“Yeah, alright, obviously I’m not working on that. _Yet_.” Steve emphasized the last word. “But I do have other projects I’m working on. Currently I’m working on a puff piece.”

“Mm, yeah? Anyone I know?” Bucky closed his eyes as he talked, snuggling to get more comfortable.

“Hmm, actually you might have heard of her, since you were with the Howling Commandos for a little while. Did you ever meet Captain Carol Danvers?”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide open. “Are you fucking shitting me? You’re doing a story on _Ms. Marvel_? The war hero and all-around badass _Ms. Marvel_? Who even are you?”

Steve laughed at Bucky’s impressed look on his face.

“Just a reporter. Who happens to be friends with Carol. She’s really a great friend, really funny.”

Bucky smacked Steve lightly on the chest, “C’mon, tell me more! What are you writing on? Her missions? Her tours? Her negotiations? Her absolutely incredible skills?”

Steve smirked and said tauntingly, “I guess you’re just going to have to wait and read the article when it publishes.”

Bucky gaped at him for a second. “That’s low, Steve. Real low.”

“Tell me your story and I’ll share mine.” Steve proposed.

Bucky closed his eyes and buried his face against Steve’s chest. “Real low,” he repeated, blowing a raspberry against Steve’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I love puns? :D


	8. 'Steaks Were Too High' Dyslexic BBQ Aficionado Says Of Recent Bankruptcy

Steve woke up to his alarm clock and groaned.

When another groan answered his, however, sleep retreated quickly enough for Steve to remember that Bucky had stayed the night and was currently tucked right up against Steve, both of their legs tangled up with each other’s.

With a swift movement, Steve managed to slide the right way on his phone to turn off the alarm before twisting back towards Bucky and snuggling closer. Bucky hummed happily and his breath evened out again. Steve was amazed by how relaxed Bucky looked, limbs loose and body sleep-heavy as he turned his face to search out and brush against Steve’s chest unconsciously.

He didn’t want to leave the bed at all, not with such a peaceful sight greeting him. Bucky’s lips were slightly parted, and he was just starting to drool a little bit. His hair was a wild and tangled mess, half of it strewn across his face and the rest on the pillow underneath. There was a slight frown line between his eyebrows, but when Steve experimentally rubbed at it gently with his thumb, it relaxed easily. Bucky’s arm was laying between them, bent up so that he was loosely clutching at Steve’s shirt.

Begrudgingly, Steve carefully extracted himself from the bed, gently maneuvering Bucky so as to not to wake him up. He froze when he heard Bucky mumble something, but when nothing else happened, Steve finished getting up. Standing next to the bed he looked down at Bucky still sleeping, though now cuddling a pillow rather than Steve. Wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away with Bucky at his side, Steve tore his eyes away and forced himself to quietly grab his clothes for the day and leave the bedroom.

Getting ready quickly, Steve shoved half a power bar into his mouth as he wrote out a note for Bucky, letting him know he could help himself to whatever he wanted in the apartment and to not worry about locking the door. Steve lived in a pretty safe building, and even if someone happened to slip inside maliciously, it wasn’t as if Steve had anything of real value for them to steal. Nothing that he would miss, at least.

His trip to work was uneventful, though he did get a raised eyebrow from his regular barista at the café he usually got coffee at. Steve simply shrugged at her and was impressed by the level of restraint she showed at not commenting beyond that.

Back at Buzzfeed, Steve saw Clint was already at his workspace, though he looked like a zombie with his level of alertness. Steve simply gave him a pat on the back with a cheery, “Good morning!” before walking away to the soundtrack of Clint’s tired groans.

It wasn’t until he sat down in his chair and got a couple sentences out for his article that his phone buzzed, alerting him of a text message. All the text read was:

_i miss u._

There was a picture attached, and Steve immediately felt his blood pool down south when he saw that Bucky had taken a picture of his dick, clearly erect under the sheet it was tenting.

Steve immediately locked his phone in a panic, glancing up to see if anyone else had somehow managed to glimpse at his phone screen. When Steve realized literally nobody cared about his internal drama, he carefully positioned himself to hide most of his screen as he unlocked the phone. Bucky’s covered dick was still there, waiting, and Steve groaned in frustration as he wrote back.

_You’re killing me, smalls._

He locked the phone again and immediately opened it again to send out:

_I miss you too._

A couple of moments later he got a reply, with another picture attached. The message read:

_come back and make me feel better_

The picture had Steve snorting and choking when he saw Bucky had found one of Steve’s black markers and drawn a crude sad face onto the head of his dick. It was both the most pathetic and the hottest thing Steve had ever seen and the conflicting emotions were starting to manifest as a rather awkward boner at work.

_Goddammit Bucky._

It took a little longer before he got another text, again, paired with an attached picture.

_too late. better luck next time_

The picture was obviously a selfie the way Bucky was angling it, showing his sad-faced dick, now limp and nestled against his groin, with a sad line of semen trailing up to his navel, and the bottom half of Bucky’s face as he pulled his mouth into a sad frown, hiding his eyes.

Steve cursed under his breath as he accepted his fate that today wasn’t going to be as productive as he’d hoped.

*

Steve was getting ready to leave for the day when he got a text message from Clint, telling him that Bucky was waiting for him.

Keys in hand, Steve froze as he stared down at his phone.

“You alright there, Rogers?” Sam asked as he came up behind Steve. He had spent the whole day ribbing Steve with poorly-concealed innuendos only to get Clint in on the action when he found out that he had, in fact, gotten laid the night before. Now, he simply looked mildly concerned as he tried to figure out why Steve had stopped walking in the middle of the office.

“Yeah, no. It’s just. Clint texted me and said that Bucky’s downstairs?” Steve made it sound like a question as he kept staring at the incriminating text.

“That’s cute. He’s waiting for you after work. Sounds serious.” Steve could tell that Sam was slightly serious under his teasing tone, and he gave a half-shrug in response.

“He usually texts me, though.”

“Maybe he wanted to surprise you?” Sam offered.

Steve hummed noncommittally, and started walking again towards the elevators when Sam poked him in the ribs to get moving. “Wait, how does Clint know what Bucky looks like?” Steve suddenly wondered. “I don’t think I’ve ever shown him a picture?”

Sam groaned as he hit the button for the ground floor. “Steve, you do realize you work with reporters, right? Like, you don’t have exclusive rights to the internet. Anyone can type in a name and find a search result. He probably looked him up a while ago.”

Humming, Steve said, “No, that can’t be it, because I looked him up at the beginning and there weren’t any pictures of him that I could find.”

The doors closed and the car started moving downwards. “I don’t know what to tell you, Steve. Maybe you just suck at your job. Oh wait, no. I misspoke, you _definitely_ suck at your job.”

“Hilarious.” Steve deadpanned.

The elevator ride didn’t take long at all and soon they were walking out into the lobby. Steve could see Bucky on the other side of the glass windows, and his heart skipped a beat at the familiar sight. Bucky was facing away, and he looked like he had his arm in his hoodie as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“That your boy?” Sam asked as they got closer. Steve nodded and Sam said, “Cute. Didn’t know you went for the string beans.”

Steve shoved Sam lightly before pushing the door open. The sound caught Bucky’s attention, who turned to look at who was coming out of the building. When he saw it was Steve, his face lit up entirely, his smile stretching across his face and reaching his eyes that seemed a little too wide with excitement.

“Steve!” He practically launched himself at Steve to hug him, only barely holding himself back when he realized that Steve wasn’t alone. A flash of guilt crossed his face as he stopped himself abruptly, and Steve suddenly realized that Bucky didn’t know for sure if Steve was out to his friends and coworkers or not.

“Hey, I’m sorry for dropping in like this so suddenly. If you have plans, I can totally wait, I just wanted to see you for a moment.” Bucky looked down at his feet when he realized Sam was staring at him, and Steve couldn’t bear to see that excitement fizzle anymore than it already had.

“Bucky, it’s so good to see you.” Steve answered warmly, determinately stepping forward to envelop Bucky in a hug. Bucky seemed to melt against Steve, a tension escaping him as he returned the hug just as tightly. When Steve stepped back, he kept an arm around Bucky’s waist as he faced Sam again.

“Sam, this is Bucky. Bucky, Sam, my friend I’ve told you about.”

Bucky reached his hand out in offering, saying, “Nice to meet you.”

Sam took it, eyeing Steve for a moment before replying coolly, “Likewise.” They shook hands briefly, and then Steve felt the way Bucky’s body started vibrating with excitement again. He was barely containing whatever news he wanted to share with Steve, and it was actually one of the cutest things Steve had ever seen.

“I hear Steve’s been trying to get a story out of you for a while now.” Sam said, diving straight into it despite the sharp warning look Steve threw his way. Sam purposefully ignored Steve and raised a knowing eyebrow at Bucky.

Bucky’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, enough to tell Steve that he knew exactly what Sam meant in his poorly hidden innuendo, but he sucked in a quick breath and grinned at Sam, saying, “He tries. Hasn’t quite succeeded just yet.”

“Maybe I should try some more persuasive techniques.” The words were out of Steve’s mouth before he could reel himself in, and Sam was unforgiving for his slip.

“Yeah, clearly your techniques aren’t working, Rogers. Gotta think outside the box.” Sam gave a meaningful look at Steve that told him exactly what Sam’s opinion on the whole thing was. Loud and clear.

Bucky seemed a little uncertain as he looked back and forth between Sam and Steve, and Sam finally let them off the hook by dismissing himself.

“Anyway, I’ll let you two catch up. I gotta go home for a Skype call. See in the morning, Steve.”

Pulling Bucky in closer, Steve waved at Sam with his free hand, “Tell your sister I said ‘hi’.”

Sam gave a nod and walked off, leaving Steve and Bucky standing together next to the doors as people walked by.

When Sam had disappeared into the growing crowd, Steve gave Bucky a small squeeze and asked, “Everything okay?”

Bucky turned towards Steve, beaming, his earlier delight coming back full steam. “Wanna go to dinner?”

Intrigued by Bucky’s obvious attempt to shroud his reasons in mystery, Steve turned into Bucky’s space and brought his hand up to his face, tipping his jaw and planting a kiss right onto Bucky’s grinning lips. Bucky was caught off guard, but immediately got into the kiss, angling himself just slightly to make it better. When Steve pulled back, he saw that Bucky had closed his eyes for the moment, and was opening them again, a slightly dazed expression almost overtaking the lingering animation on his face.

“I would love to go to dinner.” Steve whispered into the space between them.

Bucky’s eyes cleared and his grin returned full force.

Steve wasn’t surprised at the way that Bucky tightened his hold on Steve’s hand and led him away down the sidewalk. Steve thought he was going to take him towards the subway, but Bucky just kept walking. He spent nearly the whole walk nearly bouncing on his toes while remaining resolutely tight-lipped about whatever news had him so bubbly. Steve was immensely amused with the whole charade, and briefly thought back to the first couple of times he’d first seen Bucky, and how lonely he had seemed to Steve. Whatever Steve had seen back then was absolutely absent now, and he was relieved to see this giddy personality breaking through so easily.

They got to another intersection and then Bucky was pulling him across the street.

“Bucky, where are you taking me?” Steve finally asked after nearly ten minutes of walking. They really hadn’t traveled far at all, only up to 23rd St.

“Aw, you were so close to lasting the whole time without asking!” Bucky complained good-naturedly.

“The Museum of Sex is a little further up north, if that’s where we’re going.” Steve pointed out, remembering Bucky had texted him about wanting to try it a while back.

“I know, and it’s still on my bucket list. There’s another bar I want to try first.” With that, Bucky stopped walking and let go of Steve’s hand in order to gesture dramatically behind him. At first, Steve’s eye was caught by the Lego store, and he wondered why Bucky wanted to show him the place, but then he realized what really had caught Bucky’s attention.

“You just wanted Nutella, didn’t you?” Steve asked, not able to help the grin that began to grow on his face as he realized they were in front of the Nutella Bar. He would never understand Bucky’s love for not only all things sweet, but chocolate especially. Nutella, specifically.

Bucky gave him a shit-eating smirk that melted into pure ecstatic joy immediately. “I hadn’t realized it was so close to your work! And I wanted to do something special for the occasion.”

“I gathered there must be some sort of occasion, but Bucky, I really don’t know what it is. Did I miss an anniversary of some sort?”

Bucky grabbed hold of Steve’s hand again and they walked into the café as he said, “Nope. No anniversary. Let’s order and sit down and I’ll tell you.” They reached the back of the line, and Steve was impressed with how few of people were in the place— he’d figured it would be packed, but he guessed this might just a weird time to come, especially as they moved into the off-season now.   

Bucky looked eagerly at the menu, and Steve immediately knew he was going to have a hard time deciding between things. Steve leaned forward and rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “Why don’t you pick your top two choices and we can share them?”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, poorly concealed hope coloring his tone.

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and gave him a squeeze. “I’m sure. Broaden my horizons.”

Bucky’s hand came up to where Steve’s were clasped, and snuck his hand in between so they were holding hands. They shuffled their way like that to the front of the line and Bucky put in his order. When Bucky swatted Steve’s hand away from reaching for his wallet, Steve conceded and left him to finish buying the food while he went in search of a free table. Luckily, there was a mother with her little girl just leaving a table by the back wall, so Steve commandeered the spot before another customer tried to swoop in.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to return with their food on a platter, and soon they were both looking at some delicious baked goods. Bucky plopped a crepe covered in bananas and slathered with chocolate in front of Steve. For Bucky’s side, Steve saw he went with a chocolate-filled waffle goffre topped with strawberry gelato.

Bucky’s ridiculous smile as he looked at the food was better than anything he bought, in Steve’s opinion. Still, the food was surprisingly good when they dug in.

Steve waited until Bucky was past halfway done with his waffle before broaching the subject again. “So? Do I get to know the big news?”

Bucky grunted happily, mouth full, and wiped his face with a napkin excitedly. He didn’t quite get all of the chocolate off of his face, and Steve reached out with his forefinger to clean it off the corner of his mouth before realizing what he was doing. Going by Bucky’s easy stance, however, Steve committed the whole way through and wiped it. Bucky opened his mouth automatically and tilted his head as if to chase Steve’s finger. Before Steve realized it, Bucky had delicately taken Steve’s finger into his mouth and gently sucked, his tongue firmly licking up the excess chocolate. Bucky’s eyes bore into Steve’s, a mischievous glint creeping in as he got bolder.

It was doing things to Steve he didn’t want to acknowledge in public at five in the afternoon.

Carefully, Steve slipped his finger out, ignoring the obscene _pop_ it made, and tried not to think about it as he curled his fingers into a fist in his lap. Bucky, for his part, simply had on a smirk that Steve wanted to kiss off. But he wasn’t one to be deterred.

“You can’t distract me forever, Buck.” Steve said, half-admonishing.

Bucky simply shrugged with one shoulder, his face smoothing out to exude carefree nonchalance.

“Can’t blame a man for tryin’.” He said it easily, but in the next breath he perked up, excited tension returning. “But anyway, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

Steve noticed the shift and knew Bucky was finally getting to the point. He leaned forward and asked, “Is everything okay? Are you sick?”

Bucky was nodding even before Steve finished the question, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. That’s the whole point.” He gave a short chuckle. “Medical doctor gave me the all clear a couple weeks ago, but this morning it was my therapist doctor. And _she_ gave me the all clear. So I emailed Coulson,— well actually it was to T’Challa, but Coulson answered because he’s the one that does these things,— and anyway, I got a phone call earlier today from Coulson telling me that they were excited to welcome me back to work!”

Bucky was nearly stumbling over his words by the end, and Steve needed a moment to rewind and fully comprehend what he just heard. He watched Bucky’s face, lit up in breathless excitement and laden with expectation. “You’re going to go back to work?” Steve asked rhetorically, giving himself space to actually understand what that meant.

Bucky’s grin widened. “Yeah! I get to take pictures again! God, I’ve been going stir crazy stuck in one place, not being able to travel and photograph cool places around the world”

Steve bristled at that, suddenly feeling defensive. He wanted to point out all the good moments they’d shared together over the last few weeks, and how that wouldn’t have happened if Bucky was out gallivanting through the world.

Simultaneously, Steve argued with himself that he was missing the point, that it wasn’t what Bucky meant. That being cooped up without an outlet was hell, especially for someone as creative as Bucky, and in his line of work.

Clearly, Steve’s face must have been open book, because Bucky picked up on his hesitance and seemed to jump to the same conclusions. He was nearly rushing over himself to assure Steve.

“Wait, sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant. What we’ve…this thing between us, it’s not, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, no, I know.” Steve jumped in as Bucky faltered. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that news.” He forced himself to smile brightly, not understanding why he needed to put so much effort into it. “I’m really happy for you, Bucky! You must really miss it.”

Bucky flashed him a grin, and Steve’s heart seemed to skip a beat. “Yeah, I really do. Being a photographer…that’s what I am. I can tell stories no one else can.” His gaze dropped to the remnants of their food.

Steve didn’t have to work so hard to reach out and grab Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tightly once to show that he understood. Bucky glanced up and smiled at Steve, turning his hand over in Steve’s so he could squeeze back.

A dark thought started forming at the edges of Steve’s peripherals, however, shadowing the moment. “Bucky…” Steve began, realizing as the thought formed that he was speaking a truth. “Doesn’t this mean that you’re going to go back to D.C.? Move back home?”

Bucky’s fingers twitched against Steve’s, “Homebase. In D.C., yeah. Um.” His entire demeanor seemed to deflate a little as he slowly realized the issue. “Yeah, I’m going back down there. That’s where, where headquarters are, so I’d be stationed there again.”

The confirmation curdled like ice in Steve’s veins. Bucky was going to leave, leave New York, leave _him_ , and…

“My flight’s this weekend, actually.” Bucky said, sheepishly. “Coulson— my boss, remember?— he booked it on his miles. Said it was his ‘welcome back’ gift…”

Bucky rushed over his words, almost like he couldn’t spit them out fast enough. Meanwhile, Steve could only look at Bucky, feeling numb and faraway. He felt cold as he understood what Bucky was telling him.

Bucky was _leaving_.

He was going _home_.

_This weekend._

His mouth felt dry and weirdly metallic. He wondered if this was what endings tasted like.

“Steve?”

Steve watched as Bucky’s brows furrowed and visibly crumpled in on himself, his face an open book. It hurt, to see Bucky whiplash so dramatically, and know it was because of him. Steve hated to see him getting bummed out, so he forcibly livened up, pushing past the numbness and plastered on a wide grin.

“Hey, don’t worry. Let’s not sweat the details right now.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand again, twice, until Bucky looked up. “This is a cause for celebration! You’re back in the game! Granted, it’s still work in the end, but exciting work.” Steve nudged him.

Bucky’s eyes crinkled slightly, a slightly confused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, so Steve continued, doubling down, “Celebration means champagne. I think I have some in the fridge; why don’t we go back to my place? It’s closer anyway.”

And they both probably needed a little fresh air at the moment.

But finally, Bucky cracked a smile at Steve’s attempt at lightening the mood and he nodded. Steve led the way, and tried to not think too hard in Bucky’s side glances, or the thoughtful way he slipped his hand into Steve’s.

He definitely tried not to think about how they both knew full well that this, whatever this was between them, was suddenly hanging on a precipice. Something was changing, something inevitable. But they both went along with the charade anyway, for the time being. Steve would much rather prefer to think about how to celebrate with Bucky, anyway.

And who knew when the next moment like this would come around? Steve refused the bittersweet thoughts slowly crystallizing into sharp warnings in his mind. He had to make the night count.

*

The walk back to Steve’s apartment wasn’t too far, but the night sky had started to turn into a mosaic of colors by the time they entered the building.

They were quiet as they rode the elevator and walked inside, Steve shrugging off the light cardigan he had donned on earlier against the growing chill outside. Bucky followed suit and hung his on a hook behind the door while Steve moved into the kitchen.

“I’m pretty sure I have champagne, but if not, we could always raid the liqueur cabinet.”

Bucky chuckled, “I’m down for anything.”

Steve threw him a salacious wink a beat too late to be truly casual, saying, “I know.”

Bucky chuckled softly anyway, either not commenting on the obvious lapse in timing, or not noticing as he distracted himself with Steve’s collection of old records.

Steve cleared his throat, determined to put on a better show, and opened the fridge. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to realize that he never actually put the one bottle of champagne he owned in the fridge. He did, however, have a bottle of sparkling cider that he had bought for Kamala for when she finished finals week.

“Well, I got some pros and cons.” Steve announced, pulling the bottle out and shutting the fridge. Bucky turned away from the collection to walk towards Steve. “Pros are it’s bubbly and cold. Cons are it’s not alcoholic or very adult.”

Bucky sidled up to Steve, closing the gap between them unexpectedly. “It’s fine.” Bucky said lowly, “We can make it adult ourselves.”

Steve’s breath left him in a rush at the way Bucky tipped his head down slightly only to look up through his lashes, purposefully coy. The suddenness of proximity and flirting nearly made Steve forget about the oppressing thoughts hovering at the edge of his mind.

Fuck if Steve was going to let that ruin their time together. Especially if this was going to be one of their last—

“Come to bed with me.” Steve said impulsively.

Bucky snorted, “No innuendo, just going for the throat, I see.” His impish smile grew sober when he saw the serious look on Steve’s face. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat needlessly, “okay.”

Steve reached forward, pressing into Bucky’s space and hearing his sharp intake of a breath. Without breaking eye contact, Steve set the bottle on the counter behind Bucky with one hand, and settled his other hand in the small of Bucky’s back, a light touch that caused a shiver to course through Bucky’s body.

Steve drank in the way Bucky’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating with arousal, and his mouth parting slightly. He tried to memorize the way Bucky’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if still in disbelief that this was happening to him. His chest was starting to rise and fall rapidly, and if Steve leaned in just another inch or two, he’d be able to feel his heart pounding against his chest. Steve pulled Bucky in against him, and Bucky let himself be moved easily until they were pressed right up against each other, eyes nearly going cross-eyed with how close they were. Steve brought his other hand up to Bucky’s neck, his thumb brushing against his jaw and his fingers curling into the bottom strands of his hair. The bun that Bucky had been sporting was falling out, messy and unkempt, making it easy for Steve to get a good grip and pull lightly, earning a surprised moan straight from Bucky’s throat.

Brushing his lips against Bucky’s he could feel the need coursing through Bucky’s body; the way he tilted his head slightly to angle himself better, and the imperceptible push up from his feet onto his toes to make himself just tall enough to close the space between. Steve didn’t let him, holding him fast by the hair and pulling back enough to avoid the connection.

When Bucky whined, Steve’s command ghosted across his lips, “Wait.”

Bucky breathed out shakily but froze, starting to nod but not getting far in Steve’s grip. They stared at each other, eyes burning as they shared a moment, and then another, stretching into an almost unbearable limbo while they breathed into each other’s spaces, until finally Steve pulled him in for a searing kiss.

Steve didn’t leave any room for doubt as he took control, holding Bucky fast and not so much asking as demanding for Bucky to yield.

Bucky gave up everything.

It felt so natural for Bucky to open up to Steve, like an offering for the taking. He simply moaned and let Steve direct however he wanted, until Bucky seemed breathless at the invasion of it all, whining softly.

It felt so natural for Steve to angle their mouths one way, and then another, to nip at a lip and catch the gasp in his mouth, only to cover it with his and chase more breaths out. He had one hand still on Bucky’s lower back, keeping him in place, and the other tensing and relaxing his hold on Bucky’s nape, exerting just enough pressure to ground the both of them. Bucky’s hand came up to clutch at Steve’s waist, just below his ribs, and Steve loved the feeling of trust in just that one movement.

Steve broke them apart, the both of them panting shakily as he angled their foreheads gently together.  

“Come to bed with me.” Steve repeated, voice coming out rougher than before. This time Bucky only nodded, dazed, and let himself be led down the hall to Steve’s bedroom, his eyes a touch too wide.

When they stepped over the threshold, Bucky stopped walking, pulling Steve up short.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Steve turned, asking, “Are you okay with this?” He suddenly felt a pang of fear that maybe he’d gone a touch too far, and that Bucky was going to come to his senses and leave, or slap him, or yell at him, or—

Bucky glanced up and held steady eye contact, his face relaxing into a deeply satisfied grin, no trace of hesitance or uneasiness. “Yeah. I really am.”

That easy smile completely eradicated all worries that Steve was going about this wrong, and he could have danced if he knew how.

In response, Steve pulled him in for another kiss. He kept it brief, though, before breaking off and ordering lowly, “Then take off your clothes.”

Steve could actually see the moment Bucky’s eyes darkened with arousal, his pupils dilating until it nearly swallowed blue.

Still staring up at Steve, Bucky stepped on his own heel to slip out of his low-top converse shoes and then toed off his socks, so endearing in the care he took to remove them.

The way that Bucky slowly slipped his belt out of its loops, however, was definitely more taunting than endearing, and it made Steve lick his suddenly dry lips. The fact that he did it all one-handed just added to the tantalizing show. The soft _swishing_ as it pulled through the loops was the only sound apart from their breaths. When it pulled free, Bucky dropped the belt without looking.

Unbuttoning his pants was a torrid affair in its own right. Bucky knew what he was doing as he inexorably pushed the button through the hole and dragged the zipper down with one hand. Hooking his thumb into the waistband, Bucky swayed his hips side to side as he shimmied out of his jeans, dragging the pants down and taking his boxers with it.

Steve very much appreciated the way that Bucky was already half-hard, his cock just starting to curve upwards. He nearly reached out to touch, already making wild plans to see Bucky get all the way hard, but then he realized that Bucky had stopped stripping.

Naked from the waist down, Bucky was breathing hard from excitement. A faint blush colored his cheeks, and Steve knew it wasn’t just from arousal, but from nerves and shyness as well, particularly when Bucky didn’t quite meet Steve’s gaze.

Steve took a step forward, positioning himself right in front of Bucky so that they were barely touching, feeling the heat radiating from their bodies. Steve waited him out, knowing it wouldn’t take long before Bucky had to glance up.

When he did, Steve deliberately held his gaze, taking the moment to silently make sure Bucky was paying attention. The slight hitch in Bucky’s breath told him Bucky definitely was.

“Take off your shirt.”

He said it quietly and gently, but it barred no room for argument. Bucky knew it, in the way he tensed, suddenly clearly nervous for the first time since they came upstairs.

Steve expected Bucky to balk. He also knew he had to tread carefully or else ruin everything they’d been building towards. Bucky broke eye contact, looking down, and his hand came up to grasp the hem of his shirt. His movements were jerky, and he simply fisted the material in his fingers, nearly wringing his hand and not making a move to actually pull the shirt off. It looked like he was trying to pluck his courage to do it, and was failing miserably, if his shaky breathing was anything to go by.  

He refused to meet Steve’s eyes until Steve offered a quiet “Hey.”

Bucky stilled, body tense, and hand clenched. But he was looking at Steve.

“Hey,” Steve repeated gently, “It’s okay.” Bucky breathed out a little too harshly as he forced a quick grin on his face. It slipped, though, and Steve reached out to cover Bucky’s white-knuckled hand with his own. Steve kept murmuring, “It’s okay to show your scars, Buck. I’m not going to look at you any differently.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, nervous and hopeful. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Steve squeezed his hand gently. “I promise. It’s okay.”

A shiver ran through Bucky’s body and Steve squeezed again. When he let go, Bucky’s hand followed, his grip loosening and his fingers brushing against Steve’s. Steve quickly caught Bucky’s hand and slipped his fingers in between his to give him another gentle squeeze and Bucky nodded, swallowing audibly.

This time, it was Bucky who let go, letting his fingers relax. Instead of reaching for his hem again, however, he raised his arm up and over his head to grab the back of his shirt. In one fluid motion, Bucky pulled his shirt over and slipped it off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.

Bucky stood there, baring all of himself to Steve.

Steve looked for a moment, sweeping his eyes all over his naked chest. Bucky’s stomach was lean with hints of abs that proclaimed he hadn’t been shirking off exercise recently. His chest was broad and well defined, and surprisingly smooth, which made Steve wonder if Bucky waxed himself or actually had someone do it. The thought nearly made him smile.

But then, there it was. The evidence of his serious trauma left behind as glaring as possible, both in its addition of gnarled scars, and its stark absence of Bucky’s left arm. Burn scars stretched from Bucky’s left shoulder inwards, as if the flames had tried to reach its fingers further. It snaked across his left pectoral and down along his side nearly to the waist; it crawled up his shoulder and stopped just shy of his neck. The skin was a tangled web of ruddy patches mixed with pink and tanned areas that only further accentuated the angrier colors.

Finally, where his arm had been, there was only a stretch of skin over the bump of his shoulder, smooth and precise, and Steve knew it was composed of skin grafts. Just under the gentle swell of the shoulder, there was a clear, straight scar, and Steve didn’t want to think of amputations on a surgery table.  

Bucky’s breathing hadn’t changed, still too quick with nerves as he stood there, naked. In every sense of the word.

Steve swept his gaze up to see Bucky’s expectant expression, and it hit Steve that Bucky absolutely thought Steve would be disgusted or recoil from this body that has gone through hell and back. Without hesitation, Steve pushed in close, noting the slight flinch Bucky gave at the unexpected movement. Steve reached out slowly and deliberately, understanding that Bucky was drifting into unfamiliar territory, and barely brushed his fingertips against one of the more prominent scars across his chest.

Bucky gasped at the contact, a whimper pulled unwittingly from his throat.

“Does it hurt?” Steve murmured, tracing the pattern lightly.

Bucky shook his head nearly imperceptivity, and whispered a strangled, “No.”

Steve slowly slid his fingers flat, pressing his palm against Bucky’s chest, right above his heart. Bucky was frozen, transfixed as he watched Steve explore. His breaths were still coming out fast, but he was letting Steve touch him. His right arm hung loosely against his side until Steve reached out with his left hand and caught Bucky’s hand. Bucky let Steve move his hand up until Steve could press a kiss against his knuckles. He didn’t say anything about the way Bucky’s hand was trembling.

“You’re beautiful.” Steve said honestly. He trailed his left hand up and around Bucky’s shoulder and he could feel all the grooves and catches of rough and smooth skin. “So, _so_ beautiful.”

Bucky opened his mouth, likely to argue, but no sound escaped his throat. His entire body was trembling now, and Steve simply smoothed his hands against Bucky’s skin, parodying an erasure that did nothing but make Bucky lean in closer, seeking Steve out. Steve quirked a grin at what was obviously a subconscious movement, and took advantage, bending his head down to press a delicate kiss against the angriest of scars just above Bucky’s collarbone. A soft groan was finally freed, and Steve could hear the sound reverberating in Bucky’s chest as he pressed another kiss, and then another, following an aimless trail as he committed each line, each groove, each divot to memory.

Bucky let his fingers slip from Steve’s, and Steve would have protested had Bucky not immediately held onto Steve’s shoulder, his neck, his hair, anywhere for purchase. It was as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, so he settled for everywhere at once. Steve couldn’t even fault him because he felt the same burning need to touch Bucky everywhere at the same time, so he settled for wrapping his arms around Bucky and crowding him backwards.

Bucky took a step backwards, only to be stopped by the bed. Steve didn’t pause though, and pushed him down, slowing his descent behind Bucky with a hand while lowering him with the other.

“C’mere.” Steve said quietly, barely pulling on Bucky until he scooted his way up onto the bed properly. Bucky’s eyes were still impossibly wide as he listened to Steve carefully and reverently.  

“That’s it, right where I want you.” Bucky finally closed his eyes at that, a moan escaping him, and Steve was pleased to feel Bucky’s erection straining against his stomach; he hadn’t been sure if nerves would’ve taken over. He helpfully rolled his own erection, trapped behind his jeans, still, and wasn’t disappointed by the surprised noise Bucky made at the movement. He made the noise again when Steve straddled Bucky, knees on either side of his hips, and pinned him down securely. Their erections, clothed and naked, were now pressed unmistakably together, and Bucky reached up to paw at Steve’s chest.

Steve smiled and caught Bucky by the wrist, pulling it down next to Bucky’s face, and holding him down on to the bed. Bucky gave a token spasm of a struggle and then immediately relaxed, fingers twitching.

“There you go, so perfect for me.” Steve praised, and Bucky bit his lip trying to keep in a shuddered breath.

Steve bent over to press another kiss on Bucky’s chest, and then another one higher, and another higher, marking a trail up across skin and muscle. Bucky helpfully exposed his neck and Steve took the opportunity to scrape his teeth lightly across the tendon standing out on the side. He felt Bucky’s moan, and Steve licked the spot delicately, already tasting the hint of sweat on the skin. Steve moved higher and nosed Bucky’s ear, loving the way Bucky shivered at the touch. With a squeeze on Bucky’s wrist, he whispered, “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Another shiver wracked Bucky’s frame, but Steve saw nothing but pure desire in his eyes. His entire body emanated _need_ in the curved arch he made as his instinctively tried to follow Steve when he moved back. Steve placed a finger against Bucky’s chest to stop him, and it clearly took a lot of self-control for Bucky settle himself back down on the bed where Steve had put him.

Steve was quick at maneuvering around the bed in order to reach the bedside drawer and pull out the lube he kept there. Before he sat back, Steve efficiently stripped out of his jeans and boxers, tossing them down onto the floor. Glancing back, he saw Bucky was watching him avidly, his hand still by his head where Steve had left it.

Crawling back over Bucky, Steve murmured, “So good for me, aren’t you?”

Bucky nodded, his chest rising up and down quickly to go along with his breaths. He looked like he had no idea what to do or say, save for following Steve’s lead, so Steve settled himself in between Bucky’s legs this time. Bucky bent his knees to give Steve room to work with, and it only took a little nudge for Bucky to spread his thighs wider. Steve smiled at the way Bucky’s cock jerked when he settled his hands on the insides of Bucky’s thighs, his thumbs rubbing up and down along the delicate and sensitive skin.

“I’m going to make you feel good, yeah?” He followed it up with a teasing swipe of his thumb over his hole, and then again, when Bucky shuddered.

Bucky’s answering, “Yeah,” was delayed and barely audible, but it was a response, so Steve rewarded him by stroking up his cock one time.

The unexpected shock of it made Bucky cry out and try to close his legs, but Steve was quicker and held fast. Bucky settled back down after a moment, though his thighs were quivering now in exertion. Looking up, Steve could see that Bucky had moved his hand further up until he was gripping one of the slats of the headboard.

“You hold on tight, okay?”

This time, Bucky could only manage an affirming, “Mm-hmm.” That was probably as good as Steve was going to get, so he uncapped the lube and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. Without breaking eye contact, Steve brought his fingers back down to rub gently at his hole.

“Breathe, Buck. You got this.”

Bucky nodded distractedly, and Steve decided to stop teasing them both, pushing two fingers in slowly.

He wasn’t too tight— fucking on the regular helped in matters such as these— but he still let out a surprised noise, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Steve loved all the noises he could pull from Bucky, and right now he was going through a litany of them.

Steve lazily pumped his fingers in and out of him, and decided at the last minute not to tuck in his third finger along with the rest, opting instead, to slide his fingers out and wipe them on the sheets to the background noise of Bucky’s whines. He had opened him up barely enough, wanting— he thought selfishly— for Bucky to feel every last inch of Steve, and to think of him tomorrow when he wasn’t with him.

Hushing Bucky to no avail, Steve knelt up to position himself, lubing himself up more than generously. He threw the bottle off to the side and then leaned over Bucky, propping himself up with one hand, and taking himself in hand with the other. His mouth was a breath away from Bucky’s, and he didn’t stop himself from closing the distance and pulling Bucky into a heated kiss.

Steve broke away and whispered, “Ready?”

Bucky answered with a breathy, “Yes,” and then Steve was pushing in slowly. He didn’t go very far before was pulling back and then pushing in again, this time a little deeper. Again, he pulled back, almost all the way out, and then back in, inch by agonizing inch. He could feel Bucky clenching down tightly when Steve pulled out, and he ignored the plaintive whines that accompanied Bucky’s attempts at drawing Steve in.

He took it agonizingly slow, feeling the slick slide with each push. Bucky’s thighs started trembling again in their bent position, so Steve took hold of each leg and guided him up to wrap around Steve’s hips. Bucky’s sharp breath intake was loud in the room when the angle changed slightly. It must have really worked for him, because his thighs started shaking even more and he started trying roll his hips onto Steve to try and get him moving.

Steve hadn’t even bottomed out, and Bucky was already desperate.

Gripping onto his thighs tightly, Steve effectively put a stop to Bucky’s urging and held himself still. The moment Bucky relaxed again, Steve let himself smile, voice coming out hoarse as he murmured, “There you go. Let me take care of it tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, a touch of arousal and surprise mingling together when he realized what Steve meant. Steve was going to give it to him however he wanted, and Bucky was going to take it.

Steve knew Bucky couldn’t help the sudden muffled noises he started making as he forcibly settled himself down. Taking the offered opportunity, Steve started pushing in again, inexorably slow. Bucky was still so tight, but the excess lube made the glide in easier, and almost immediately, Bucky tried to pull Steve in deeper, his heels digging into Steve’s ass in encouragement. It was painfully clear that Bucky was begging with all his body to make Steve go faster than this tortuous speed.

Steve simply paused again, not letting Bucky lead. Not tonight.

A desperate whine burst from Bucky’s throat when he visibly resigned himself to Steve’s pace again.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Steve promised, pushing in again. He decided to spare Bucky, however, and this time he didn’t stop, pulling out a surprised moan from Bucky when he finally bottomed out and just stayed there.

Bucky tossed his head back, and Steve bent over to kiss the exposed skin at the base of his throat, tasting the sweat gathering there. He brought a hand up to continue his tracing along the ruined shoulder, watching Bucky shudder as his fingers gently caressed each scar. Steve pulled himself up higher until his face was right over Bucky’s, the both of them breathing hard into each other’s space. Bucky blinked his eyes open, and his eyelashes were wet. Brushing his nose against Bucky’s, Steve trailed his hand up along the shoulder and neck to once again tangle his fingers into Bucky’s hair. When Bucky tried to tilt his head towards him for a kiss, Steve briefly held him back before finally giving in and closing the gap between them. At first he just kissed him lightly, a chaste thing with barely controlled heat, but then Bucky whimpered and the kisses turned messy and hard.

Bucky submitted to it all, gasping between hard presses of mouths and soft, barely-there touches.

The desperation in Bucky was growing to palpable degrees as he whined and moaned, his hips jerking in involuntary movements as he tried to get any kind of friction. But every time he half-heartedly tried to get Steve moving, Steve stopped him easily, distracting him with his mouth, his hand, a tug in the hair, a brush against skin. Each time just made Bucky’s eyes grow more and more hazy. His knuckles were white from where he still gripped the headboard slates.

He could do this, Steve knew. He could do this for Bucky, give him this.

Finally, Steve moved. His cock ached something fierce; this ridiculously slow pace was killing him too, and he wanted to snap his hips and drive into Bucky, but he refused to break. He wanted Bucky like this, wanted Bucky to come like this.

He wanted them to always remember this night.

Bucky completely lost his words somewhere along the way as Steve dragged himself almost completely out before steadily pushing back in. It was not enough, not by a long shot for either of them, and yet it was absolutely perfect. Slick sounds of skin sliding on skin, breathy moans and shuddered gasps were all the sounds that filled the room, along with quiet words of praise that Steve worshipped into Bucky mouth.

Steve had no idea how long they existed in those precious moments, only knowing he never wanted it to end.

Especially not when Steve finally acknowledged the fact that he was utterly and unreservedly in love with Bucky.

It didn’t hit him or come to him in an epiphany like he would have expected. It was simply the truth, so glaring now that Steve realized it, and if he was truly being honest with himself, he’d known for a long time. He let the awareness wash over him as he poured himself into kissing Bucky, his gentle thrusts only broken by a slight hitch before smoothing out again.  

When Steve felt his lips grow wet under his kisses, Steve pulled back to see that Bucky was crying. His chest rattled with uneven breaths and his eyes were clouded over, but he focused on Steve like there was nobody else in the world. The attention was piercing and Steve’s heart squeezed tightly, feeling so trusted by the most beautiful man he’d ever known.

And there was the other truth, unspoken and unexamined, the other piece of the puzzle. Steve desperately wanted to revel in it, but it hadn’t been given to him just yet. And that was okay. Even if Bucky never said it, Steve still had this, still had him, here, under him, in him, and it was more than Steve could have hoped for.

Bucky’s orgasm surprised them both. Nothing changed, and yet, on a slow slide in, Steve felt Bucky tighten around him hotly, and saw Bucky’s expression furrow into confused surprise as his mouth fell slack and his cock twitched hard. No sound came out, but his back bowed up on a held breath as he came without a hand on him.

Steve fucked him carefully through it, everything suddenly tighter and nearly making Steve come himself. It seemed to go on for a long time, all of his muscles were bunched up and Steve could almost see the waves passing through Bucky. When he finally caught his breath, he flopped back down like a puppet with cut strings, his body entirely lax, and his eyes half-closed. He seemed nearly unconscious, but he still managed to unerringly find Steve’s gaze and hold it.

Bringing his hand up to brush away the sweaty hair stuck on Bucky’s face, Steve leaned over and kissed him softly on his open mouth. Bucky let it happen, making a tired sound when Steve pulled back. Steve shushed him gently and reached up to tug at the hand still gripping the headboard tightly.

“Let go, c’mere. It’s okay, relax.” It took a moment of coaxing to get Bucky to release the slats but the second he did, Steve didn’t give him a chance to think and brought it down to let him cling to onto Steve’s shoulder. Bucky immediately latched on, curling his fingers around to have a steady handhold.

“That’s it, watch me.” Steve encouraged quietly when Bucky shuddered out a shaky breath. Bucky heeded Steve’s words and was utterly pliable as Steve shifted their positions slightly, bringing one of Bucky’s legs up higher and hooking it under Steve’s elbow, while letting his other leg splay out to the side. The resulting position spread Bucky utterly wide, and he clearly understood the implications of it when Steve began moving again, still a slow pace like before, but growing harder and deeper.

Steve was chasing after his own orgasm at this point, and Bucky’s grip on Steve didn’t falter. If anything, he squeezed harder when Steve’s thrusts started losing their rhythm. Within a few more uneven jerks of his hips, Steve pushed in deep and stayed there as he rode out what felt like the most intense orgasm of his life. He had his face buried into Bucky’s scarred shoulder, and a hand tangled hopelessly into his hair as he twitched his way back into some semblance of control.

As his breathing evened out again, Steve mouthed along Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the grooves and ridges of ruined scars under his tongue. Bucky hummed quietly at the feeling, and Steve carefully let go of Bucky’s leg, setting it back down on the bed so he was comfortable. Not wanting to crush him, Steve rolled off to the side, and he barely settled down before Bucky shifted right into his side, nearly rolling on top. Steve just gathered him near, watching as Bucky slid his arm across Steve’s stomach and laid his head in the crook between Steve’s arm and chest.

They didn’t say anything else that night, both too worn out physically and mentally to form any sort of coherent thought. Steve knew that they should be having a conversation of some sort to try and untangle the mess of emotions Steve was trying not to think about, but he could feel the moment slipping away from them with every breath Bucky made against his skin. Bucky felt heavier and heavier as sleep started to pull him under. When his soft snoring began to grace the silent room, Steve blew out a long sigh and resigned himself to planning to talk in the morning. He probably should sleep on it anyway, and let the new dawn refocus him.

He laid there, comfortable and warm with Bucky tucked against him, and tried to fall asleep, but the more he tried to relax and let go, the more awake he became. He couldn’t help but watch Bucky in his sleep, the way his back moved with every deep breath, the way his face scrunched up against Steve, or the way his fingers twitched unconsciously, almost tickling Steve’s stomach.

Steve’s own fingers twitched in sympathy, and it took him far too long to realize that he was really craving a pencil, feeling inspired to capture the moment. He hadn’t felt like this since his mother died, and the urge took him by surprise. He hadn’t thought he’d ever want to draw again, but of course it would be Bucky that drew him back in. It didn’t take too much longer after that realization to carefully extricate himself from Bucky, feeling almost mournful to leave the bed. He chuckled quietly when Bucky didn’t so much as move the whole time.

Steve padded his way over to a drawer on his desk and moved things out of the way so he could pull out a sketchbook he hadn’t touched in years. He took a moment to run his fingers over the cover, the old texture a familiar touch, and he let a fond smile slip. One of his pencils was still taped to the cover, and he automatically started flicking at the tape. Holding it almost reverently, he brought it back to bed, and settled himself at the foot, the ambient city lights and the moon creating enough of a glow to illuminate his scene. After pulling the pencil free, he flipped through the pages quickly, trying not to glance at his old work, and finally found a blank page. Taking a fortifying breath, Steve brought the pencil to his canvass, and started sketching, rusty at first, and then more confidently, each stroke growing more into what he wanted. And what he wanted was to keep this image of Bucky, features soft with sleep, body starting to tangle with the sheets as he shifted once or twice. He wanted to get the angles and shading just right, loving the challenge it presented. He couldn’t believe he nearly forgot the freedom in drawing like this, missed it without remembering what it was he really missed.

He didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he finally finished the picture. Looking at it, he knew it was pretty good, considering he hadn’t made any art like that in a long time, but he was quick to shut it closed and simply tuck the book away back in its drawer. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with the real thing.

Slipping next to Bucky, Steve untangled the sheets enough to cover them both before lying back down and feeling immensely satisfied when Bucky cuddled close. Within seconds, Bucky had curled into Steve, fitting himself perfectly, and Steve felt a rise of emotion at the blatant display of trust.

Smoothing his hair back, Steve let himself whisper, “I love you.”

He knew it was selfish, Bucky was asleep and wouldn’t hear it, but he couldn’t bear to not tell him at least once.

*

In the morning, Steve woke up first.

Bucky was still curled up against him, and Steve wanted to stay there forever, but his bladder had other plans. He tried to sneak away, but his movements woke up Bucky who was groggy and adorably sweet as he blearily blinked his eyes open.

“Steve?” He croaked out.

Steve couldn’t help smiling. “Hey, morning.”

“What time’s it?” Bucky tried to say, but caught a yawn in the middle.

Steve kissed him on the forehead, “It’s still early. I have to pee and then I’ll make breakfast, ‘kay? Sleep more if you want.”

“Mmm.” His response was muffled when he turned into the pillow, and Steve couldn’t help chuckling and kissing him again. He started to make his way to the bathroom, but before he went in, he glanced back at the bed to watch Bucky moving on the bed to get into a better position. When he did, he sighed and tucked the pillow closer.

A wave of bitter wistfulness passed over Steve, shocking him, and he knew this was going to be a hard morning. Shaking his head, he went to the bathroom to do his business, and when he came back out, he saw that Bucky was dozing.

Steve made his way through the apartment and began to set up the kitchen, planning on making French toast since he knew Bucky loved sugary foods. He beat the eggs, putting all the ingredients together while the skillet warmed up, and by the time he’d made three, the entire apartment smelled like cinnamon. He was just putting each serving on a plate and topping it off with syrup and powdered sugar, when Bucky came shuffling out of the bedroom. He was wearing a pair of Steve’s sweats, though they were a couple sizes too big so it slung low on his hips.

“Good morning.” Bucky greeted with a sleepy smile.

Steve wanted to kiss him, but when he saw Bucky give a wince as he walked towards the kitchen bar, Steve banished the urge. He wasn’t going to abuse his fleeting privileges anymore. Instead he said, “I made breakfast.” He plastered on a smile that felt superficial even to himself.

He must have sounded off, too, because when Bucky looked up at Steve, his smile started to slip a bit, and his eyebrows came together in confusion. Steve hastily said, “Sit, sit. We don’t want it to get cold.”

Bucky nodded distractedly and gingerly sat down on one of the stools at the bar, pulling a plate towards him. Steve slid a fork and knife over, and didn’t let himself be touched by Bucky when he grabbed them. Instead he focused on his own plate and took bite that was way too big.

Bucky watched him for a moment before looking down and carefully cutting up his bites. When he smiled again, it looked a little forced as he said, “It smells amazing.”  

“Thanks.” Steve had to swallow hard to get the words out, and then he was shoving more food into his mouth.

There was a definite change in tone and tension between them, and they both very clearly picked up on the difference. The only problem was that they had no idea how to fix it. Steve had thought that the morning would have brought a new perspective into how he was feeling and how he could express himself, but it really hadn’t. He was simply coming to terms with the fact that Bucky was going to go away, back to his work, off in another state, and Steve was going to stay here, alone, again. It didn’t matter that Steve had finally admitted to himself that he was completely in love with Bucky.

Their little tryst was coming to an end, regardless of whether or not they wanted it to. They were going to have to part ways despite whatever their feelings were, and Steve didn’t want to put it on Bucky to end things. He knew things would drag on if not, and he wasn’t strong enough for that. Not this time. Not with Bucky.

They finished their breakfast in silence, and the silence just grew more and more oppressive. It came to a head as they were putting their plates in the sink, because Bucky tried to lighten the mood.

“There’s more pressure in this apartment than there was in the volcano in Hawaii, you know.” He gave Steve a cheeky smile and turned to face him, expectant.

Steve wanted to take the bait, wanted to play along and ask him about the story, badger him to give in, but the words wouldn’t form.

Eventually Steve simply conceded defeat. “I think you were right, Buck. Some stories should be left untold.” Putting on another fake smile, he said, “You win.”

Bucky had always been an open book of facial expressions, and this time was no different. Steve could tell how much that admission surprised Bucky, how Steve’s behavior was confusing, and the hurt that finally settled down as Bucky started to comprehend what Steve was trying to do.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to take it back, no matter how much he wanted to.

“So…what…” Bucky began slowly, his brows pinched together as if he was also piecing his thoughts into sentences. “That’s it, then? It’s over?” Bucky gestured helplessly between the two of them, spitting out the words incredulously.

Of course, now was the perfect time for Steve to lose his voice entirely. He opened his mouth to try and say something, anything, reassuring, but nothing came out.

When he finally did say something, it wasn’t what he wanted. None of it was what he wanted.

“I have to go to work soon.” The dismissal hurt Steve as much as it clearly hurt Bucky. But Bucky just took it, nodding as if this was to be expected, and mumbled something about getting changed before walking right past Steve to go to the bedroom.

For a minute, Steve fought himself, wanting to go after Bucky. He wanted to beg him to stay, wanted to tell him he’d follow him, wanted to kiss him softly again, wanted to push him back down onto the bed, wanted to whisper apologies into his skin until they forgot the world and the problems with it.

Instead, he steeled himself, taking long, measured breaths, and straightened up when he heard Bucky coming back.

He turned around and saw that Bucky had dressed, wearing the same clothes as last night, and it felt so wrong. Those clothes belonged on the floor, away from today’s horrors. They belonged to last night, and good memories, not today’s harsh truths.

“Umm. Good luck on your article. Can’t wait to read it.” Bucky couldn’t quite meet Steve’s eyes.

“Thanks. Good luck on your pictures. I wanna see them in the magazine soon, ‘kay?” The inane chatter felt rehearsed, as if scripted.

Steve walked Bucky to the door and opened it for him.

“Yeah.” Bucky paused before he walked out, turning to finally catch Steve’s gaze. “I’ll see you later.” He paused and averted his eyes. “Or not.”

Then, in a fit of courage Steve would have never hoped to aspire to, Bucky looked up and met his eyes, steeling himself. Steve didn’t stop him as he crowded and kissed him. It was light, nothing different from what they’ve shared before, but it was everything to Steve. He only barely stopped himself in time before he could do something stupid like grab onto his arm and tell him to stay.

Leaning back on his heels to break the kiss, Bucky stayed still for a moment, as if expecting Steve to do something. When he didn’t, Bucky nodded to himself and turned around. Steve watched him walk away, expecting him to go to the elevator, but Bucky took the stairs instead, quickly disappearing down as if parting didn’t taste so much like a final goodbye.

Steve definitely did not start to cry as he closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...
> 
> On the other hand, Nutella is the best!


	9. Area Man Discovers Way To Forget Embarrassing Past, Claims Alcohol Is Super Effective

“You look like a fucking mess, Rogers. What the hell happened to you?” Sam didn’t even wait a beat before he was grabbing Steve and pulling him down an empty hallway. Steve barely had enough time to regain his balance after his momentum was abruptly altered. He simply let himself be steered into an empty office by Sam, and didn’t protest when he was gently, but firmly, pushed down into a chair. If anything, he was relieved to sit, his legs feeling dangerously wobbly.

“Steve, hey. What’s going on?” Steve blinked up and suddenly realized that Sam was right in front of him. He had taken another chair and pulled it right up in front of Steve and was looking at him with a look of worried concern.

“I…” Steve had thought he’d cried himself out early this morning, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Through shuddering breaths, he managed to garble out, “I broke up with him.”

A look of understanding passed across Sam’s face, and Steve would forever be grateful to Sam when he simply nodded and pulled Steve in for a hug, letting him ride out his outburst.

Steve didn’t know how long they were like that; all he could focus on was trying to keep his heart from hammering straight out of his chest. His ragged gasps finally eased off into stifled sniffles, by which point, he tensed up a little. Sam noticed the difference immediately and pulled back, looking away for a moment to give Steve space to try and put himself back together as best he could.

When Steve cleared his throat a few times, Sam focused his attention back on him.

“Start at the beginning.” It was clear instructions, simple and straightforward, and exactly what Steve needed right now. Well, he needed something else, but he wasn’t going to go down that road. Not now.

So he told him everything, from the time that Bucky showed up, giddy and restless with news that then spiraled down into a devastating situation. And in between in it all, Steve’s slipping control over a love he didn’t deserve. He kept talking, all the way to the final goodbye that felt more like he was saying farewell to his heart than anything else.

Sam listened quietly the whole time, letting Steve finish before saying, “And what, you decided to come to work?”

Out of all the things Steve could have imagined Sam telling him, that wasn’t one of them, and it threw him for a loop,— a sudden shift that pulled his attention away for a moment. “What?”

Sam smiled kindly, but it was the sort of look that Steve had grown to understand meant that Steve was being an idiot. “All of this happened in the past twelve hours, the actual break-up, what? An hour ago? Maybe two? Not to mention some self-esteem issues that’ll be a whole thing to unpack. And your course of action in all of this is to come to work like a normal day? Dude, you need a break.”

Steve stared at Sam, dumbfounded. “But I…need to finish my article…”

Same raised an eyebrow. “Are you honestly telling me that if you went in there, right now, and sat at your desk, you’d be able to finish your work? And make it quality? Without having another breakdown?”

Steve felt himself flush dully as he tried to envision it, coming up with no good answer.

“That’s what I thought.” Sam reached out and gave Steve a pat on the shoulder. “What you need is to call in sick and take the day off. Blow off some steam and try to relax a bit. Watch TV. Get drunk. Let yourself feel whatever you have to feel, because if you repress that shit, it’s just going to come back and bite you in the ass even harder later.”

Steve nodded numbly, realizing that was probably all he had the energy for, if he was being honest with himself.

“Can you—?” Steve stopped himself before he could finish begging Sam to keep him company. He was being pathetic enough as it was, and he didn’t need to drag Sam down with his issues. He hastily followed it up with, “Never mind.”

Sam’s expression softened even further and took a moment, studying Steve. “You know, I only have a little bit of work I need to finish up today, and I was planning on taking a half day anyway. Why don’t you go home and try and sleep some more, and I’ll be over in a little bit?”

The offer was so tempting, that not even the blatant lie could tarnish it. Steve simply nodded his head in appreciation.

“Yeah, that’d, um. That’d be really great, Sam. Thanks.” Going home to an empty apartment was unappealing enough, but knowing that he wouldn’t be alone for the rest of the day was slightly bearable.

He got up, feeling like was walking underwater, and started to walk towards the door, when he felt a hand grab his elbow to stop him. When he turned around, he saw Sam was looking at him with more concern than he’d ever seen.

“You’re a mess. And I know it doesn’t feel like it, and you’ll need more than just me saying it now, but you _do_ deserve love, Steve. We’ll figure it out though.” He said right before he pulled Steve into a warm hug. He tensed up at first because he didn’t think he’d ever hugged Sam like this before, but then couldn’t help the rush of relief that followed being held when he was this lost. Bringing his hands up, he returned the hug, probably squeezing a little harder than was strictly considered polite, and swallowed back the ache he felt everywhere. He didn’t need to breakdown again.

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve murmured quietly, meaning it wholeheartedly. He relaxed his hold to break off the hug, not wanting to make this anymore awkward.

Sam just smiled softly, saying, “Go home. I’ll be there soon.”

Steve wasn’t entirely conscious of his entire route back home, only snapping back to attention when he was in front of his door, struggling with his keys. Somehow he figured it out, and soon he was standing in the middle of his kitchen, completely at a loss of what to do.

His first instinct, of course, was to text Bucky, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Not after the stunt he pulled. God, he felt like such a jackass. He’d probably never forgive himself for letting go of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But, he reasoned with himself, this had to be better than the alternative. It _had_ to be. Right?

Thinking was too hard and too painful, and Steve didn’t want to do that anymore. He looked over at his fridge and wondered if he should take Sam’s advice. Getting drunk at ten in the morning wasn’t particularly charming, but living with his own thoughts at the moment was even less appealing.

Making his decision, Steve wandered over to the fridge and opened it, planning on grabbing some beer. Almost immediately, tears welled up in his eyes and he sank to the floor, shuddering, and trying to catch his breath. The unopened bottle of sparkling cider sat there, innocuous.

It took him longer than he cared to admit before he simply slammed the fridge door closed, and heaved himself up. Opening up the cabinet above the fridge, he pulled out the tequila, needing to get drunk, _fast_.

Steve briefly considered if he should even bother pulling out a glass, try to have some semblance of control over this situation, but then dismissed it. What did it matter?

He was fully drunk and sprawled out on the couch by the time his buzzer screamed to let him know someone was at the door. Surprised that the time seemed to have passed him, he looked at the clock, but he had a hard time trying to get the blurry numbers into focus so he gave up.

“Come in.” Steve called out, feeling too heavy to get up and open the door himself.

He heard the doorknob rattle and then stop. He must have imagined the sigh because Sam’s words that came next through the door were slightly muffled, “It’s locked, Steve. You gotta open it.”

“Hmm.” Steve considered that for a moment. It made sense. He must have locked it out of habit when he came in earlier. But why didn’t Sam have a key? He should have a key. That’s what friends did, right? Give friends keys?

“Steve? You still in there?” Sam’s voice broke him from his introspection.

“Right.” Steve was supposed to open the door. The locked door. The door that was locked.

Steve giggled, thinking of old Disney movies. He really should watch some of those again. Maybe he could marathon them. Or better yet, he could try and convince Bucky to—

The laughter died in his throat.

Steve pulled himself up off the couch with great difficulty once the room started tilting slightly; his feet bumped into the empty bottle and sent it rolling away. He’d have to get that later.

He wasn’t quite sure how he made his way to the door, but suddenly Sam was there, saying, “Shit, Steve. You really flew with my advice.”

“You said i’was okay.” Steve slurred out, feeling indignant. Sam had _told_ him to get drunk.

“Yeah, no I get that. Have you eaten anything yet?”

Steve shook his head, but went too fast and had to push the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the dizziness.

Behind the starbursts of colors, Steve heard Sam say, “Alright, let’s get you sitting down before you fall over, big guy.”

He figured Sam got the door, because he was ushered blindly back to the couch. The moment he felt the cushions behind his legs, Steve dropped down, sprawling back onto the couch.

“Fuck.” He breathed out heavily, wondering why everything was still tilting when he had stopped moving. Cracking an eye open, Steve caught sight of Sam surveying him.

“Yeah. I’m going to cook some plain spaghetti for you. Try and absorb anything in there. If there’s anything left.” Sam walked away, presumably to the kitchen, and then Steve heard the fridge door opening.

“No, don’ open it.” He moaned out. Something cold suddenly touched his forehead, and Steve yelped, instinctively trying to move away. He nearly fell off the couch before he caught himself.

“Wha’ was tha’ for?”

Sam’s face was upside down from his vantage point, and his mouth was tugged slightly down into a frown. Righting himself up, Steve realized it wasn’t a frown, but a poorly-hidden smile as Sam offered a water bottle towards Steve.

“You need to drink. Water. Or else you’re going to have one nasty hangover later.”

Steve took the proffered water bottle and took longer than necessary to open it. It wasn’t until he’d swallowed a mouthful that Sam looked satisfied and disappeared back towards the kitchen. Within moments, Steve heard gentle R&B music coming from the speakers, and he squinted his eyes closed, wondering if he should be annoyed that he’d given Sam the password to cast things onto his system.

He quickly banished that thought away as the music carried on and Steve found himself relaxing anyway, the atmosphere already seeming more vibrant than the sorrow mess he’d left it in earlier.

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a haze. Sam managed to get some pasta into Steve, and Steve somehow managed to keep it all down. They ended up lazing about on the couch, tucked under a blanket, as they watched shitty movies on cable, cracking jokes and laughing at the even shittier commercials in between. At some point Sam ordered Chinese food, and Steve was eternally grateful for the greasy, delicious flavors, knowing that in just a few hours he would most likely regret it. Sam hadn’t encouraged Steve to keep drinking, but he hadn’t discouraged him either, gamely pulling out and drinking beer with Steve. The hard liquor had disappeared though, so Steve knew Sam was looking out for him anyway.

The sun had long set by the time Sam declared that a shower was in order for Steve. Sniffing at himself, Steve winced. He smelled as if he’d been drenched in stale sweat and alcohol with a not-so-pleasant undertone of just pure grossness.

Taking a shower did help, even if he wasn’t completely conscious of all the steps he did. Sam sat on the counter on the other side of the curtain, keeping him company with idle chatter. Steve just figured he was there to make sure Steve didn’t accidentally drown himself; he couldn’t even blame him for that.

Another blur occurred between getting out of the shower and ending up tucked in bed. Sam pushed three Ibuprophen into Steve’s hand and watched intently as Steve chugged a whole bottle of water.

“Take some more Ibuprophen in the morning with more water, okay? You’ll still probably have a hangover, but it should help. You should also probably take the day, too.”

Steve nodded and then stopped himself, “I might come in later.”

Sam smirked. “Yeah, we’ll see about that. Just try to get some sleep, yeah?”

It was already becoming a battle to keep his eyes open. He thought he was supposed to walk Sam out, but before he could say anything, Sam chuckled and said, “I know my way out, dude. Good night.”

The last thought Steve had before passing out was that Sam was a good friend.

*

Waking up the next morning was a mistake.

Through a pounding and insistent headache, Steve reached out blindly onto his bedside table, fumbling for the pills that Sam had left the night before, grabbing two of them. The third pill, and the closed water bottle got knocked off onto the floor, and Steve had to suppress a disappointed groan. He briefly thought about swallowing the two he had dry, but the thought itself nearly made him dry heave. It took him two solid minutes to gather the courage to lean over the side of the bed to grab the fallen items, but the moment he did, he had to scramble out of bed to stumble towards his bathroom.

Steve had somehow forgotten how much it sucked to have a hangover.

By the time Steve hauled himself back to bed, he felt like he was on death’s doorsteps. He snuggled back into his covers and managed to relax for a moment before remembering that he still hadn’t taken the pills or water. With a frustrated sigh, Steve managed to successfully grab both things off the floor without trying to empty the contents of his stomach again. Not that there was much left anyway.

Steve ended up lying on his side, staring at his pillow case for the better part of the next two hours. His fingers absent-mindedly tapped on the sheets in time with the throbbing in his head until it finally died down to a subtle ache. The medication and water were clearly helping, and he slowly started feeling like a human again. He was barely starting to contemplate getting up to search for something to eat, debating whether to stick with cereal or try something more, when he suddenly remembered that he’d forgotten to call into work.

“Fuck.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut and dragged his hands over his face. This time, when he got up, the dizziness and swimming vision only last for a couple of moments before he was able to blink his eyes and clearly see. He found that his phone was next to the pill bottle, plugged in and charged, and Steve sent a mental note of appreciation to Sam, grateful for his help.

Grabbing the phone and disconnecting the charger, Steve thumbed it open, and saw he had a voicemail and a couple of text messages. He looked at the texts first, from Sam and Clint, both wishing him a better day, and another one from Tony Stark.

That one just read: _take the day off. don’t bring your sick germs_

Steve wondered if Sam had mentioned something, and was grateful all over again.

He was still smiling a little bit when he finally clicked on his missed calls and voicemail, and froze.

Bucky had called.

Bucky had called and left a _voicemail_.

Steve’s chest started hurting, and he realized he had stopped breathing, his heart pounding hard and fast.

His debate over whether he should immediately call him back, or listen first, or even set down the phone and walk away for a later problem, all fizzled out immediately. He needed to hear what Bucky had to say. He owed him that much.

With a fortified breath, Steve pressed the little ‘play’ icon and put the phone to his ear. Within the first few seconds, Steve immediately could tell that Bucky was clearly drunk and angry:

_“Now you listen up here, Mr. Rogers. Fucking, Steve. You…you, I know what the, what that shit you tried to pull. I get it, okay? I’m not a fucking moron. I’m just— there’s, you— fuck. There’s better ways of letting me down, y’know? And! And how fucking— how dare you decide that for the both of us, huh? Because I know damn well you don’t really want this, this, thing, whatever we are? Were? To end. At least, I’m betting not. I just…I just wanted you to be happy for me. You think I don’t know that moving back to DC is going to suck? That long-distance relationships are the worst and usually end up so…I don’t know, bad? Like, I get it, I do. I don’t know how we were going to work either, and you just beat me to the punch. Breaking up makes sense. Or whatever. I mean, that’s what that— that’s what that was, right? I didn’t mis— fuck, I didn’t not—, did I get that wrong? You just wanted to save— us? Not make us go through that shit…But goddammit I just— I wanted a little more time. Together. Us, and fuck, I miss you, I know it’s only been, like a day. Fuck! And I’m so angry, I’m so— even though I’d’ve probably done the same, and it’s just. It’s not fair! This whole thing isn’t fair, Steve. Why— why can’t I have both of you? You and the job? It’s not fair…oh fuck, Nat’s coming, she’s going to kill me if she finds out I called you—”_

The automated voice started asking Steve if he wanted to hear the message again, or delete it.

Steve simply let his phone drop onto his bed.

Any vague appetite he had managed to scrounge up had deserted him utterly, leaving him tired and miserable. He tried to hold onto his reasons— Bucky himself pointed them all out. He couldn’t give in, not now. He knew what he did was shitty, but goddammit, it was just going to end even worse, he knew it. _Bucky_ knew it.

But, Bucky had also wanted more time, just like Steve.

Fuck, Bucky was right, it _wasn’t fair._

Steve picked up the phone again, and opened a blank text message to Bucky. It took him a long time of writing, and deleting, writing and deleting, trying to write the perfect text, but in the end he realized that that was probably the most cowardly thing to do.

He was just going to have to face it and call Bucky.

Glancing at the time, he figured 9am wasn’t too early. Bucky was usually up around this time. It took a few more minutes of anxious stalling and having to wake up the screen a couple times so it didn’t lock, before Steve finally pressed on Bucky’s contact number.

Steve’s heart seemed to stop when he heard the first shrill ring.

And then the next.

And then the next.

It was agonizing, waiting, and only hearing that electronic tone. He fucking deserved it though, Steve knew; Bucky had gone through the same thing last night, hadn’t he?

One last ring, and then it finally clicked. Steve’s breath stuttered as he tried to breathe in to speak, but then Bucky’s voicemail started playing.

Steve figured he deserved that too.

Maybe Bucky had slept in? He _had_ sounded pretty drunk in the voicemail. Or maybe he had just stared at his phone the whole time, letting it ring and ring. Steve might never know.

He’d had a whole spiel figured out, and he was going to say everything, but when that tone ended, all Steve said was:

_“Hey, Bucky. I’m…sorry. Just— I’m so sorry.”_

Feeling useless and meek, Steve quickly ended the call and threw his phone back down on the bed. On second thought, Steve laid back down in his bed, curling up on his side and stared at his phone, expecting it to light up. Or ring. Or sing. Or dance. Or fucking _do something_

He didn’t get a reply back from Bucky for the rest of the day.

*

Work was miserable the next day, but manageable, at least.

At least it was Friday.

Steve didn’t want to work on anything, not his Captain Marvel exposé, not any of his upcoming projects, and especially nothing relating to Hawaii or photography. Instead, Steve came up with a bullshit article that he ended up deleting by the end of the day. Absolutely useless.

Stark came by, though. Steve glanced up from his laptop to see him approach, and he didn’t even have time to try and pull on a more appropriate façade before Stark took one look at him and turned on his heel, walking away.

Steve wondered if he really did look that awful.

After a little while, Clint came over and brought him a coffee cup. Steve had meant to grab one earlier when he came in, but he had just sat down in his chair, and just…didn’t get back up again.

“Thanks, Clint.” Steve said honestly. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Clint to do nice things, it just…was unexpected.

“Don’t worry about it.” Clint dismissed him easily. “I know how it goes, sometimes.”

The way he said it made Steve know that he wasn’t just saying platitudes. There was a story there, and maybe one day Steve would try and figure it out. For now, however, he just accepted Clint’s solidarity and appreciated it.

Steve brought the cup to his lips, figuring it would be some sort of disgusting concoction of sugar like the kind Clint usually drinks, but it turned out to be plain black coffee. Steve’s drink.

He took a drink, and did his best to not cry in front of Clint.

 Clint seemed to catch on to Steve’s dilemma and clasped Steve on the shoulder for a moment before graciously taking his leave. Steve stared hard at his laptop for a while after that, trying to get his ridiculous emotions under control.

They reared their heads up again when Sam came by, this time.

“Hey man. How’re you holding up?” Sam spoke softly and Steve glanced up.

“I’ve been better. Hangover’s gone though. That’s nice.”

Sam smirked good-naturedly, nodding, “Yeah, those can be a bitch. Wanna do something after work? We can watch more dumb movies and eat junk food again. Or we can go out?”

Sam let that hang in the air, a tempting offer, but one that Steve had to decline. “Thanks, but I think I gotta shake this one off myself.”

The unimpressed look that Sam sported almost made Steve backtrack.

“You know, you really don’t have to do this alone. You have friends. Use them.” Sam insisted, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. It was the same place Clint had touched, and Steve wondered the last time he’d been touched like that, with support and friendly meaning.

Steve looked down, chastised. “Yeah, I know.”

Sam’s hand was warm.

“Can I…can I get a rain check on that?” Steve looked up, willing Sam to understand how grateful he was for Sam’s concern.

Sam watched him for a moment, eyes flicking back in forth as if searching for something. He must have found what he was look for, because he broke out into a small grin, saying, “Sure, man. Another time then.”

“Tomorrow?” Steve rushed out quickly, suddenly wanting to show how much he did want company. Just not at the moment.

Sam’s grin grew wider. “Tomorrow.”

He took his hand off of Steve’s shoulder, and Steve immediately missed the warmth.

*

Trudging into his apartment that evening, Steve had one goal in mind. To devour the leftover Chinese food.

This time he was better prepared when he opened the fridge, and actively refused to think about the sparkling cider he forced himself to move towards the back of the shelf, moving a bottle of ketchup, a tub of sour cream, and a few cans of soda so that it effectively blocked the sight of the cider. His plan of not thinking about the cider, and all it entailed, was a tall order, though. It was like trying to not think about an elephant once someone said to not think about an elephant.

But one way or another, he did it, and grabbed the leftover takeout boxes unscathed.

Steve watched, entranced, as his plate of mismatched Mongolian beef, lo mein, fried wontons, and vegetable fried rice heated up in the microwave. It was such a beautiful sight to behold, even with the noodles drying up, and when the timer went off, Steve could have kissed his appliance. After the tiring, complicated day he had, he was ready for the simple, small joy of eating dinner.

A tiring, complicated week, more like.

He was halfway through his second plate when his phone started buzzing. Steve glanced over and saw an unknown number calling him. He considered letting it go to voicemail, but Steve’s need to know who was calling, even if it was spam, was annoyingly prudent and present.

At least he swallowed before answering, “Hello, this is Steve speaking.”

“Yellow, Steve? The name’s Weasel, I’m a bartender at Sister Margaret’s. I’ve got a guy here who needs a pick-up, and he says you’re the lucky winner to take him home.”

Steve felt his eyebrows furrow as he glanced at the clock on the microwave. Who could possibly need to be picked-up so early at a bar?

“At seven in the evening? Who is it?” Steve asked, mentally trying to figure out who would call him.

The answer dawned on him almost at the same time the guy on the phone said, “Says his name is ‘Bucky.’ Said it with a straight face, so I’m guessing that’s his actual name. Anyway, he’s been in here a while now, and as much as I’m digging the stoic brooding with a side of anxious grimaces, I did have to cut him off once he started losing the war with gravity on his stool. You know him?”

“Yeah,” Steve voice cracked and he had to cough. “Yeah, I know him. I’ll come pick him up. Is he okay?” Steve got up, setting the food down and wiping his hand on his jeans. He started looking around, patting his back pocket, trying to look for his keys.

“He’s definitely drunk, as you can probably surmise. He’s awake and listening to my directions so far, so that’s good, but he’s got some serious puppy eyes and he keeps— I don’t know if you know this guy’s only got one arm, though I’m assuming you do since you’re the guy to call, apparently— but he keeps rubbing his shoulder there. I don’t have any band-aids big enough for that. Anyway, I’ve got customers I gotta service here, you coming?”

Steve finally found his keys, remembering he’d left them on the kitchen counter with his wallet. Grabbing his jacket, he said, “Yeah, yeah I’m coming. What’s the address?”

The bartender gave him directions, and Steve thanked him, hanging up as he shut his door behind him.

Bucky was at a bar in Brooklyn, not too far from his house. Steve didn’t want to think about how long he must have been at the bar, drinking, and he especially didn’t want to think about the implications that Bucky had chosen to call Steve rather than Natasha.

Steve decided to avoid driving, not wanting to risk the traffic on a Friday night, and hurried down the street to the subway. He was abruptly glad that he had automatically grabbed a jacket, when the short walk outside proved to be chillier than he’d expected. It was really starting to cool down these days.

He wasn’t quite attentive to his journey to the borough, and before he knew it, he was walking up the stairs of the Clark Street station and into the street. The bar was just around the corner, a dark little place underneath a small residential building. Steve hurried down the stairs and walked inside.

Somehow, the night life outside the bar was brighter than inside the dank bar room. Letting his eyes adjust, he surveyed the place and saw a pool table, tall tables with bar stools around, and a jukebox in the corner— everything pointing to a typical dive bar. The patrons of the bar were a little rougher around the edges, though, and Steve definitely felt out of place immediately. Not that he cared, once he finally spied Bucky in the back corner next to the end of the bar.

Steve strode over to him, noticing how he was leaning heavily on a bald guy with a badly scarred face. It looked like burn marks, similar to what Bucky’s looked like. He was smiling, though, and chatting with Bucky, though it didn’t seem like Bucky was contributing much to the conversation, with his head tucked down against the guy’s shoulder, his hair falling in strands against his face.

“…to which I said, ‘are you fucking kidding me? I’ve got a mole on my nutsack bigger than that, I’m not paying for— can I help you?” The burned-face guy interrupted himself to look up at Steve, who realized he’d walked right up to them without a word. Bucky didn’t move to see who had arrived.

Bringing a hand up to rub his neck, Steve said, “Hi, I’m Steve?”

The guy looked him up and down, no doubt wondering why Steve had been called when he was clearly so lame.

“You don’t know? You sober?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment Bucky seemed to have realized that the burned-guy had stopped talking to him, and he glanced up, his hair partly obscuring his face. He blinked slowly, and then recognition seemed to set in once he caught sight of Steve.

“Steve!” He cried out, all at once letting go of the guy and trying to reach Steve, but his balance was completely shot and he would have ended up face-planting had both the guy and Steve not immediately reached out to support him.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve greeted, figuring out how to maneuver Bucky into an embrace when Bucky somehow kept trying to climb him. “Easy there, pal.” He finally manhandled Bucky into leaning against him bodily, supporting him with an arm around the waist while Bucky flung his arm around Steve’s shoulder. Bucky’s head lolled back to try and look at Steve, and he smiled wide, his mouth slack and expression unguarded.

“I missed ya! I told Wade here, how y— how we, I missed ya…” Bucky was slurring his words, half of his consonants missing. His loose smile then turned into a grimace and Steve caught him squeezing his eyes shut before Bucky tucked his head against Steve’s neck, hot, panting breaths escaping him in a rush.

“Buck?” Steve asked, immediately concerned. “What’s wrong?”

When Bucky only groaned in response, the burned-face guy— Wade, Steve assumed,— spoke up. “He’s been hurtin’ for a while. Says his arm burns, only he doesn’t…you know.” He gestured helplessly towards his own left arm. “It’s all in his head, y’know? But it doesn’t make it any less real.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, for watching out for him.”

Wade gave him a mock-salute. “No prob. Just, take care of him, yeah?” He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and hopped the bar to grab a bottle of vodka off the shelf. Steve watched as the bartender came over and started to berate Wade, but a quiet whimper pulled Steve’s focus back towards Bucky.

Turning towards him, Steve shifted Bucky slightly to get a better grip and said, “Let’s take you home, okay?”

Bucky nodded miserably. He started to guide Bucky out of the bar, almost carrying him for all Bucky helped in walking, nearly tripping over himself at every opportunity. When they finally walked outside, the chilly air hit them in the face, and Bucky whined.

“It hurts, Steve.”

“I know, Bucky. I know.” Steve felt useless in the face of Bucky’s situation, but then he felt a shiver go through Bucky’s frame.

Steve looked down and realized Bucky didn’t have a sweater or jacket on, just a thin t-shirt and jeans.

“Here, hold on.” He shuffled them over to the stairs and leaned Bucky against the banister. He ended up bracketing Bucky between his legs, propping him up to stay still, as he slid off his jacket. Getting it on Bucky was another brief circus act, but at least Bucky was pliant enough to figure it out without too much hassle.

“You’ll ge’ cold.” Bucky protested weakly as Steve zipped up the jacket.

“Nah,” Steve kept his voice light, “I got a sweater on. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky thought about that for a moment before mumbling out, “’Kay.”

Steve couldn’t help the upward tick of his mouth at Bucky’s contemplating face.

“Come on. Let’s get going.”

Steve wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get to Montague, with Bucky hanging on desperately and Steve trying to navigate through the busy sidewalk, but they did it. They got some funny looks from some people walking past, but Bucky didn’t notice, and Steve didn’t care.

“How’re you doing?” Steve asked, coming to a stop when Bucky tripped again, bringing a hand up to squeeze Bucky’s bicep through the jacket. Bucky had his fingers gripping tight on the side of Steve’s sweater, his hand shaking slightly.

He let his forehead rest on Steve’s chest and he took a moment before he mumbled out, “’M tired, Steve.”

Steve used his other hand to cup the back of Bucky’s neck, massaging lightly into the corded muscle there. “We’re almost there,” He encouraged.

“I don’t wanna go.”

Steve paused.

Bucky continued, “My flight’s tomorrow. I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna leave, you—, I just want…”

Steve waited for Bucky to continue, but when he didn’t, Steve murmured, “I know.”

Bucky took a shuddering breath and rubbed his face against Steve.

“C’mon.” Steve pulled Bucky against him, and this time, Bucky seemed to have an easier time walking, though he still relied on letting Steve take most of his weight.

Bucky was amicable and let Steve move him so long as he could still hold onto Steve’s sweater. The one time he accidentally let go, he whined until Steve caught his flapping hand and guided him back.

They somehow managed to avoid any major catastrophes until they were about a block away from Bucky’s apartment building. Bucky grunted out painfully and folded down onto the sidewalk, surprising Steve.

Steve softened his fall, letting him down carefully until Bucky was kneeling, bent over with his hand curled against the concrete.

Steve knelt beside him, immediately rubbing his back. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Is it the arm?”

Bucky whimpered, heaving out harsh pants as he struggled to speak. “It’s the—, fuck! God, it hurts— Steve…please…it, I can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” His platitudes felt meaningless, but Steve kept them up. “I’m here, I’ve got you. We’re nearly there, just a little bit more. Think you can make it? Can you do that for me?”

Bucky shook his head agitatedly, and then froze. He didn’t seem to breathe for a moment, and then he let out a long _whoosh_ of a breath.

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse and quiet, but Steve heard it. “Le’s go home.”

Making sure to go slow and careful, Steve helped Bucky up. He didn’t comment on the wet streaks on his face, or the way that Bucky tucked his head into Steve’s neck again, hiding his face, or the way Bucky’s renewed grip on Steve’s sweater tightened enough to show off white knuckles.

It really was just down the road, and nobody bothered them as they finally passed the T-Mobile store, coming to a stop against the wall to catch their breath. Steve asked, “Do you have your keys?”

Bucky mumbled an affirmative answer, but didn’t move to help locate them.

“Are they in your pocket?” Bucky’s answering sound was less confident, and much quieter, so Steve assumed he just couldn’t remember where he’d put his keys.

“Okay, I’m gonna look for them, just hold on.” Again, Bucky didn’t move to help, or hinder, as Steve started patting Bucky’s pockets. He found them in his right front pocket, and then they were making their way inside the building. Steve didn’t even contemplate the stairs, knowing that would be too much. Their short elevator trip was uneventful, and then they were stumbling to Bucky’s front door.

Steve had just put the key into the lock when Steve felt him tense up. He looked over, but Bucky was stoically looking ahead. Steve stilled his hand, not opening the door yet.

“Buck?”

Still refusing to look, Bucky shakily took a breath and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, though, and he snapped his mouth shut. Again, he tried, but words failed him.

Steve frowned in concern, finally opening the door and pushing it in. “Let’s get you inside—”

“Was it the arm?” Bucky finally gritted out between clenched teeth.

 Steve snapped his attention back to Bucky. “What?”

Bucky closed his eyes and repeated, “I asked, _was it the arm?_ ” He shuddered and Steve felt him start to loosen his grip on Steve’s sweater. “Is tha’, is tha’ why you left?” His face crumpled helplessly, and he couldn’t hide the hitch in his breath.

Steve’s heart thudded painfully as it finally sunk in what Bucky was asking.

Bucky’s grip on Steve finally relaxed, moving away in the face of rejection, and Steve didn’t even think before he caught him and pulled him into a tight hug, not giving a fuck except to fix this one mistake.

He _could_ fix this mistake.

“ _No, absolutely not_.” Steve stressed, conviction pouring out as best he knew how. If ever there was one thing certain, it was this. “Bucky, you are _perfect_. God, you’re so fucking strong, you don’t even know. It’s what I lo— you’re resilient, and witty, and so fucking smart, and fuck, Bucky. I’m so sorry you even thought it could be your arm. I promise you,” Steve pulled back enough to coax Bucky into looking at him, “it was _not your arm_.”

Bucky let out a trembling breath, releasing the tension that had crept into him. He closed his eyes again, the furl between his eyebrows deepening, but he nodded, relieved.

Steve pulled him in again for another hug, stealing a moment he knew he definitely didn’t deserve, but was too helpless to fight. Not when Bucky reached up to clutch at Steve’s sweater again, pulling himself in closer.

“Think we can make it to the couch?” Steve asked after they stood there at the threshold for long minutes. He hated to break the tentative peace, but the hallway was not well heated, and Bucky’s shivering was starting up again.

Bucky didn’t speak, instead nodded his head against Steve’s chest.

He may have agreed, but getting him to move was another story. Bucky wasn’t quite ready to let go of Steve, so walking was still a little awkward, but Steve managed to shut the door behind them and maneuver the both of them over to the couch, helping Bucky to sit down.

When Bucky finally released his hold, Steve assumed he was going to sprawl out on the couch, tired as he clearly was, but the minute Bucky sat down, he started shaking and panting again, his face contorting into angry lines that belied his pain.

“St—Steve,” he gasped out, “it burns, plea— it, I can’t—”

Steve sat down on Bucky’s right side, pulling Bucky in and reaching over to rub carefully at his ruined shoulder. Bucky shuddered and moaned, reaching his own hand to cover Steve’s, and pressing down hard. Steve got the message and rubbed harder, earning a broken sigh for his efforts.

The touch seemed to help.

Until it didn’t.

This _episode_ , or whatever term Steve didn’t know he was supposed to use, seem to last more than any of the previous ones. Or maybe they were melding into each other. Steve had no idea how this worked. But Bucky couldn’t hold onto his relative calm, and started begging Steve, incoherently.

“Shh, Bucky, I got you, I got you.” Steve reached a hand to Bucky’s face, pushing away sweaty strands of hair that stuck everywhere. Tears leaked out of squeezed-tight eyes, and Steve could feel his heart breaking for Bucky.

A ridiculous idea suddenly popped into his head, and Steve didn’t know if it would help or not, but he had to try _something_ , he couldn’t just let Bucky suffer like this.

“Hold on, give me a second, I want to try something. It might help, I dunno, but I need to get it. Can I try something?” Steve rushed out, wiping at the tear tracks. Bucky managed to open his eyes enough to look at Steve, his eyes red and wet. He gave a nearly indiscernible nod and then closed his eyes again, reaching his hand to grip at his shoulder in a violent manner. His fingers dug in deep, and Steve took the cue to haul ass.

He ran to the kitchen, pulling drawers open until he found what he needed. It only took one more frantic moment of waiting for his next target before he came back to the couch, zipping up the plastic bag and wrapping it up in a towel.

“Here, try this.” Steve pulled Bucky’s hand down and unzipped his jacket enough to move it out of the way, clearing the empty space of where his arm should have been. Sitting down on Bucky’s left side, Steve pressed the wrapped bag onto his shoulder, making sure to cover as much space as possible.

Bucky dragged his eyes open, and looked over at what Steve was doing, first in curiosity, and then in surprise as he started feeling it.

“I know it’s stupid, but…” Steve began, “I dunno, I thought maybe a little bit of ice might trick your brain into relaxing for a moment?”

Against all odds, Bucky let out a startled laugh. The sound was incongruent with the whole scene, and Steve could help but let out a laugh too. That was all it took for Bucky to dissolve into laughter, most of it sounding slightly too hysterical, the sound getting muddled with sniffs and coughing. The laughter was contagious and Steve had to concentrate to make sure he didn’t accidentally drop the bag of ice in between laughs.

Finally, their laughter seemed to taper off, and Bucky scrubbed at his face, still grinning.

“Oh god, I can’ believe tha’ worked.” His words still slurred together, but they no longer had the bite of pain to accompany them.

“Me neither.” Steve agreed, ignoring how his own hand had gone numb.

Bucky tipped his head back against the couch, letting it hang, and blew out a long, shaky breath. “Thanks, Steve. For…” Bucky gestured wildly, trying to encompass his meaning, “For everything.”

Steve leaned back against the couch too, letting himself relax a little now that the more immediate situation was being handled. “You really don’t have to thank me. It’s the least I could do…for giving you the cold shoulder this week.”

He waited a beat, and then Bucky turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“Did you just…?” He trailed off, and then let out a sharp bark of laughter followed by an exaggerated groan as he covered his eyes with his hand. “I cannot believe you.”

Steve grinned unrepentantly as his pun had the desired effect of helping Bucky relax even more than the ice itself.

He tolerated the ice for a couple more moments, but then Bucky reached up to where Steve was still holding the bag. Gently, Bucky guided his hand down, pulling the bag off and letting it drop on the cushion between them. Bucky must have noticed Steve’s fingers were cold, because he then started rubbing them. After a couple of quiet minutes, the two of them just breathing and sharing space, Bucky stilled his fingers. When it became clear that Bucky wasn’t sure if his touch was welcomed, Steve intertwined their fingers together, squeezing for a moment.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck, ‘m exhausted.”

“I don’t blame you. Sounds like you had a rough night.”

Bucky sniffed. “Yeah. Somethin’ like tha’.” He breathed deeply and let out another sigh. “Fuckin’ ice. Of course.”

Steve chuckled. “I don’t think it would’ve helped with actual lava, though.”

Looking over again, Bucky grinned, “Nah. Wouldn’ve worked. But still…” He squeezed Steve’s hand, and let his thumb rub distractedly against Steve’s skin.

“Hey,” Bucky declared, a little too loudly, “speaking of lava. Wanna know how I got these scars?” He grinned, only a tick belying his hesitancy that Steve knew stemmed from an uncertainty that would take a bit of time to disappear. But his eyes shone brightly, as if determined to push past every insecurity.

Steve wondered if Bucky was a little high on adrenaline from the pain, and the whole night. He was definitely drunk and tired. He immediately felt guilty. This was a story Bucky had actively kept from Steve the whole time they’d known each other. He protested, “Bucky, you’re drunk…”

Bucky snorted, “Psh, so what? I never could tell this story sober anyway…”

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand again. “Whatever you want, Bucky. I’m listening.”

That drew a giggle from Bucky before he said, sardonically, “Whatever I want. I wan’ my arm back. But that ain’t happenin’.”

Steve stayed quiet, knowing his participation was over, for the moment. Sure enough, Bucky picked up his thread and began his story.

“You know I was in Hawai’i. Lava spewing everywhere. And I’d been on volcano before, I’d done a series, so I knew how to, I don’t know... I definitely knew better.”

He stared hard up at the ceiling as he continued, “I was takin’ a picture. Tryin’ to get that perfect shot, you know? And I just couldn’t get the fuckin’ angle right. The light, the lava, everything was just slightly off. Like when you walk inside your house and someone’s moved everything two inches to the left. It’s all there and great, but it just feels…off.”

Bucky sighed, and closed his eyes.

“So I was tryin’ to fix it, tryin’ to get lower and lower so I could get it, and I knew I was gettin’ too close, could feel the fuckin’ heat radiating off the earth. God, I was sweating so much, it was so fuckin’ hot.

And Nat kept yelling at me to be careful, but I wasn’t really listening. I found the perfect rock to lean against, and that was it. Finally, I got it.”

Bucky turned to look at Steve, his eyes piercing. “I got it Steve. I got the picture I’d been wantin’ my whole life, and it was perfect and everything I’d wanted. So of course,” Bucky laughed bitterly, “that’s when the rock literally melted out from underneath me, and down I went.”

Pulling his hand from Steve’s grip, Bucky whistled and mimed going down.

Steve could only hold his breath.

With a self-deprecating laugh, Bucky continued, looking away again, “So of—fuckin’—course my first instinct is to try and break my fall. But guess what? Tryin’ to break your fall with fuckin’ lava doesn’t exactly work out the way you’d expect. I don’t think my hand even got as far as touchin’ it before my whole arm burst into flame.” He shook his head at the memory, and brought his right hand up to rub absentmindedly against his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much pain before in my entire life. It felt like my skin was melting right off. Which, technically, I guess it was. I’m pretty sure some of my fingers dissolved then and there. Little bit ‘o me left in Hawai’i.”

Bucky flared his hand out dramatically, flipping it up as if taking a bow.

“Anyway, I don’t really remember much of what happened afterwards— it was mostly a blur. I know it could’ve been worse though, but Nat caught me before I actually rolled into the lava, and practically dragged me away onto safer rock.”

Bucky shrugged, nonchalant by the idea of completely falling into lava.

He continued, “Got air-evac to take me to the hospital. And I wasn’t even conscious by the time they decided to amputate whatever was left of the arm. Though I guess I should be grateful that’s the worst that happened.”

Bucky finished his tale, signaling with an audible thump as he let his left hand fall in his lap.

Rolling his head to the side to look back at Steve, he grinned, “Sure as fuck makes for a good cocktail story though, doesn’t it?”

Steve reached out with both hands and caught Bucky’s hand, enveloping it tenderly. Bucky let him, watching as Steve struggled to think of what he could possibly say.

By the time Steve opened his mouth to speak, however, Bucky cut him off sharply, “Please, don’t—. Don’t _pity_ me. I’ve gotten enough of that.” He scowled a little bit, his brow furrowing.

Clearing his throat, Steve said, “What I was _going to say_ , was that I’m surprised you lost the high ground. Weren’t you the chosen one?”

Bucky froze.

He turned his head so slowly, eyes boring into Steve’s while Steve stared back, holding his deadpanned expression as best as he could.

“Steve.” Bucky began tentatively, “Did you… just make. _A prequel reference_? A fucking _prequel_ reference?”

Steve tried to hold his expression, but he could feel himself cracking, his lips trying to quirk upwards despite how hard he was trying to smother the impulse.

“Oh my god, Steve, get out. I’m kicking you of my apartment right now.”

Steve lost his battle and burst out laughing.

The fact that Bucky was still staring at him in horror just made him laugh even harder.

“I can’t believe you. I _cannot_ believe you. I bare my heart out to you, tell you everything, and you fuckin’ have the _balls_ to say, _to my face_ , a goddamn Star Wars _prequel_ reference? How dare you. How _fuckin’_ dare you, Steve. Get out.”

Steve had to wipe at his eyes, tears leaking out as he tried to get himself under control and stifle his laughter.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve managed to get out between irrepressible giggles.

“No you’re not, Rogers.” Bucky finally cracked a smile, rolling his eyes, and scooting closer towards Steve.

“No, I’m not.” Steve agreed. He made room for Bucky when Bucky scooted again, his whole side pressing against Steve’s. He then tipped his head sideways until it rested on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve felt at ease. It felt right, having Bucky there, with him.

“Thank you.” He said honestly, “For telling me. Thank you.”

Bucky hummed noncommittally, fidgeting with Steve’s fingers.

Almost shyly, Bucky asked, “Didja wanna see it?”

“Hmm? See what?”

“The picture.”

Steve turned a bit, wanting to look at him, but the angle was too awkward. “You have it?”

Bucky chuckled. “Surprisingly, yeah. The camera happened to roll the other way, against all odds. Nat picked it up while I got evac’ed. And it only got a couple scrapes, nothing too damaging. All of my pictures from that trip are on there, actually. Got ‘em all developed and everything.”

“That’s fucking incredible.”

Steve heard Bucky snort. “You’re telling me.”

“Yeah, I’d love to see it. Do you have it framed? Above your bed, perhaps?”

Bucky tipped his head up to look at Steve. “Hilarious. No, just printed out. Here, let me go get it.”

He moved to get up, and almost succeeded the first time. He ended up needing just a little push from Steve to actually get off the couch, and watching him amble off towards the bedroom was entertaining in its own right.

For the two minutes he was left alone, Steve very carefully did not think about what the hell he was doing.

Instead, he took in again Bucky’s apartment. He truly loved his style; it was his sister’s apartment, Steve remembered, but Bucky had made it personal enough to balance out the two preferences. The white book cabinets held classic books, from Shakespeare to Jane Austen, and in front of them stood printed pictures that Bucky had obviously taken. Some were framed, but most were simply propped up, as if a reminder to be seen. Steve recognized a couple from when he’d been researching Bucky, like the moon melting into the waterfall, and the horses flying through tall, blonde grass. Tucked against a copy of _The Hobbit_ , Steve spied a snowy scene that must have come from his train story. He couldn’t help but smile, seeing the evidence of a well-documented life full of adventure and excitement.

Apart from the scenic photographs, there were also pictures of Bucky with who Steve assumed was his sister. Some were silly, rolls of photo booth film obviously taken at Coney Island, and some were more familiar, a graduation ceremony, or a birthday. In all of them, Bucky looked so _happy_.

Steve adored them all.

Before he had a chance to spiral down into thinking again, Bucky came back out, holding a 5" x 7" photograph in his hand. He had it facing away from Steve, so he had to wait until Bucky sat down again next to him, and even then, Bucky kept it tucked against his chest.

“Is that it?” Steve asked rhetorically.

Bucky simply nodded, and then mumbled distractedly, “Yeah.”

Steve waited him out.

“I…” Bucky began slowly, “I’ve never shown it to anyone. Not yet. Not even Natasha’s seen it.”

Touched, Steve put his hand on Bucky’s forearm and gave him an encouraging squeeze.

Bucky looked up and met Steve’s gaze steadily. “I want you to see it.”

“Okay.” Steve whispered.

Bucky breathed out heavily and handed the picture to Steve.

The picture was _breathtaking_.

Bucky had managed to capture a series of events Steve didn’t think was possible. The lava flowed into frame from far off in the distance in the right-hand side, a classic slide of brilliant reds and yellows that shone hot, frozen in time. The winding streams of molten lava flowed out of view, the dark shadows only making it look brighter. Above it all, it met the night sky, brilliant stars showing the Milky Way in all its glory. A magical snapshot of a meteor, bright white debris streaking across the starry midnight sky, made it look just as luminous as the lava. But as gorgeous as the setting was, the coup de grâce was the macaw that had happened to fly into the shot from the left-hand side, the lava’s glow lighting up the radiant golden underbelly of the bird. The effect made it look more like a legendary bird, a phoenix rising from the ashes of the volcano to fly right up into the heavens.

“Holy shit.” Steve breathed, his hands actually shaking as he held the photo. He suddenly felt like he was dirtying the picture somehow, marring it with fingerprints and who knew what else. “How did…?” He trailed off, not even knowing where to start.

“How did I get the shot?” Bucky guessed. Steve tore his eyes away from the picture to nod. “Fucking pure luck, man. And a little bit of whiskey, to be honest.” Bucky chuckled to himself, and Steve couldn’t help smiling along. “And a deal with the devil, clearly. One he came to collect pretty soon after.” Bucky rolled his ruined shoulder to emphasize his point.

He continued, “I was just trying to get a decent picture of the lava and the meteor shower together, but the wind kept changing directions, making the ash cloud cover the sky in all the wrong places. But then the wind changed again, and suddenly there was the perfect clearing with shooting stars competing with the fire.”

“And the bird?”

“I have no fucking clue. A message from the gods? I don’t even know why it was up there so late, not to mention while a fucking volcano was erupting. Maybe it wanted to see it and the sky, who knows. But it just flew right through the shot, and all I saw was a yellow flash.” Bucky’s voice grew quieter, “Sometimes I look at that picture and I feel like the bird actually caught fire.”

Steve could understand clearly, the lava looking like it could reach the bird’s flight and drag it down in flames.

“I never saw it fly away.” Bucky kept going. “Because immediately after I snapped that picture, is when everything went to hell.”

“Fuck” Steve whispered in an undertone. Bucky gave him a wry look, shrugging with one shoulder.

Looking down at the picture and handing it back to Bucky, Steve said, “It’s so beautiful, Buck.”

Bucky took the picture back and looked at it for a moment before leaning over and setting it down carefully on the coffee table. “Yeah. Only cost me an arm, though not a leg.”

That made Steve chuckle unexpectedly, and Bucky shot him an unrepentant grin as he settled back into the couch, his entire side pressed up against Steve’s. The warmth was welcomed and Steve ended up with his hand on Bucky’s thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the denim jeans. Bucky’s hand was settled next to Steve’s, their fingers pressed together.

They both sat there, calm and in comfortable silence for a few moments, just breathing. They’d both done an incredible job of ignoring the elephant in the room, but they had to face it eventually. Bucky ended up having more courage than Steve and brought it up.

But Steve knew Bucky had always been more courageous than Steve anyway.

“It’s not fair.” Bucky started, looking down at where their hands touched. “It wasn’t fair, that you… _decided_ …for the both of us. You just ended things. I wasn’t ready for it to end, and you just. Ended it.”

Steve took a moment to breathe in and out, hating the pain that returned to Bucky’s voice, and knowing it was his fault for putting it there, this time.

“What else would you have had me do? What else could I have done?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky huffed out an exasperated noise. “Fucking— _not break up_?” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Steve wanted to agree. He wanted it more than anything, to sink into Bucky’s conviction.

“You’ve got your job back, Buck. You’re moving back to D.C. What, would you turn down going back? Turn down your chance at picking up where you left off? Turn down your career?”

That left Bucky silent for a moment.

Finally, he answered, hesitantly, “I don’t know.”

It sounded too much like false hope, and they both knew it. Bucky could play at pretending he would seriously consider not going back as an option, but they both knew it was a lie.

Steve moved his hand over Bucky’s, and murmured, “I think that’s your answer right there.”

Bucky obviously bristled at that, and Steve knew he was pissed at having the choice taken from his hands. He took a deep breath, set on arguing, but Steve cut him off.

“Bucky,” He gripped Bucky’s hand tightly and turned to face him completely, willing Bucky to understand. “I was never going to make you choose between me and your job. You have to know that.”

Bucky’s eyebrows were pulled together in an indignant frown. “Why the fuck not?” He demanded, his bravado slipping in the waver of his voice. “Why not make me choose? Make me choose!”

He was panting now, his breaths coming out short and harsh, and Steve could see the way his eyes were filling with tears. He looked wrecked, and so frustrated, and Steve knew he probably didn’t look much better. It really wasn’t fair. It was never fair.

Steve still didn’t answer.

He didn’t have an answer for Bucky. Not one that Bucky would accept.

The tears finally slipped down, leaving a fresh trail behind. Bucky waited a moment longer before realizing Steve wasn’t going to fix this. Couldn’t fix this. So he took a shaky breath in and nodded before looking away.

His voice thick, Bucky raggedly asked, “Can we…can we just. Forget it. Please? Just for— just for tonight. I just want— just want one more night. Please. Just pretend that everything is the same, one last time.” He sniffled wetly and continued, “I just, please, Steve? Can we do that? I just really want to be held one more time by the man I love.”

Steve hadn’t even realized he’d wrapped Bucky up in his arms before Bucky had finished talking.

“Yes,” Steve whispered emphatically, “Yes. Yes, yes. I’ve got you. C’mere.” He pulled Bucky in tighter, fitting him against Steve’s body and tucking his head under Steve’s chin. He felt the ragged and shuddered breaths against his chest, resolutely ignoring the silent way his sweater dampened.

Moving slowly and deliberately, Steve maneuvered the two of them to lie down together on the couch; Steve stretched out on his back, and he kept Bucky close, pulling him on top to settle. Bucky burrowed his face against Steve’s neck and cried himself to sleep, his right hand clutching Steve’s shoulder as if to keep him from getting away. Not that Steve had any intention of doing so.

Not tonight.

Steve laid there, breathing in Bucky’s scent, the faint smell of shampoo from the messy sprawl of hair coming out of his usual bun. Bucky was a warm weight on his chest, his own breaths rising and falling to match Bucky’s eased breathing. Steve kept his own arms around Bucky’s frame, one low on Bucky’s back and the other slung around his shoulders, so his hand was covering the empty space of where his left arm should have been.

He laid there, content to steal this last moment, ignoring his own tears sliding down his temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Womp womp. 
> 
> But at least now we know what happened in Hawai'i! :D


	10. Running Is Only Acceptable If It's Running Away From Your Problems

Steve didn’t sleep that night.

He laid there for a few hours, listening to Bucky’s quiet breathing and watching his back rise a fall. Bucky’s grip had loosened enough to slip off of Steve’s shoulder, hanging limply over the side of the couch.

Steve couldn’t put Bucky’s story out of his mind. It was the story he had been chasing for so long, for months, at this point. He had wanted to hear it, to write it, and now he knew it, and he couldn’t help turning it over and over in his mind, the photograph seared into his brain. He could see it, at an odd angle, from where it was laying innocuously on the coffee table still. The brilliant colors from the glossy material shone softly in the dim living room light.

It had been the colors that Steve had first noticed in Bucky’s photography. His handle of creating the most unlikely scenarios was only emphasized by the way he managed to capture the play of colors in a single scene.

It really was remarkable.

Steve’s fingers itched to write, a need he usually associated with wanting to draw. But this time he wanted to write down Bucky’s story, create a permanent product that could live on eternally after the story was shared.

Carefully and gently, Steve shifted under Bucky. He slowly slid out while moving Bucky deeper into the couch, making sure he was still comfortable. Freezing when he heard Bucky make a noise, he waited for a moment, watching as Bucky settled back down. Steve continued to extradite himself from the tangle of limbs they’d managed to get into, and finally he had Bucky curled up on the couch, still passed out. Steve found himself kneeling next to the couch, watching Bucky sleep; his eyebrows were pulled in together slightly, but a soft thumb rubbed it smooth and his whole face seemed to relax completely. His mouth was ajar, and his breaths were silent and warm. Steve finger-combed his hair to get the errant strands out of his face, and then he just rested his hand on top.

Finally, he leaned over and pressed a tender kiss on Bucky’s forehead, inhaling his scent and trying to memorize it. Bucky twitched once, twice, and then settled back again, soundly asleep.

Steve straightened up and grabbed a throw blanket from the side of the couch. He draped it over Bucky’s prone form, and tucked it around him; it was just a touch too chilly in the apartmenr for Bucky to sleep uncovered, even if he still had Steve’s jacket wrapped haphazardly around him. And this way, Steve was confident he wouldn’t wake up shivering.

With Bucky wrapped up warmly, Steve made his way to Bucky’s kitchen, figuring out which lights dimmed the living room lights as he went, and finally turning on the ones he needed. He opened the fridge, hoping to find a water bottle, and sure enough, there were a few in the door. He grabbed one and uncapped it, downing nearly all of it in one go.

Carefully shutting the fridge door so as to not disturb Bucky, Steve took his water bottle with him as he walked around Bucky’s apartment, taking in the photographs again and looking at the knick-knacks he had set up all over the place. In the corner of the room, there was a desk with a monitor, a scanner and printer set up next to it.

Steve moved the mouse and the monitor woke up, luckily showing the homepage for YouTube, rather than a password screen. It only took a few moments before Steve had logged onto his portal work station, and clicking on the Word document he’d had saved on his desktop for months.

Steve looked back and saw Bucky still asleep, cuddled under his blanket. He looked relaxed and serene, and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

He watched Bucky for one more minute before finally turning his attention back to the screen.

Looking at the Word document that had plagued him for so long, Steve took a look at the single headline written at the top, and held down the delete button.

He knew what he wanted to write now.

*

Dawn just started to peek through the window blinds by the time Steve saved his article and sat back, tired and satisfied. He’d ended up writing the whole article, the one he wanted, and now he was finished.

The words had started to blur a little bit by the end tail of the night, but Steve had pushed through. Weirdly enough, even though he was exhausted, he didn’t feel like sleeping. Looking over, he saw Bucky was still passed out, his blanket pulled down a bit from a few unconscious movements. Other than that, Bucky had barely moved all night.

Looking back at Bucky’s computer, Steve spent a few moments figuring out how to send the article to Bucky’s printer before exiting out of the program and shutting down his portal work entry. He opened up the YouTube homepage for Bucky again, and waited as the printer on the desk whirred quietly as it began to print. With that going, Steve finally got up and stretched, hearing his joints pop and feeling his muscles protest.

Once the printer had finished, Steve grabbed his pages and looked at them for a moment, feeling proud. Turning around, Steve walked back to the couch, slowly and stiffly. He carefully set the pages down on the coffee table, setting Bucky’s photograph neatly on top. He considered taking a moment to search Bucky’s apartment for sticky notes, but after he failed to see them at the desk, he simply grabbed a blank page from the printer and picked up a pen from a cup holder to write his note:

_Bucky,_

_I couldn’t sleep last night, and I ended up writing that article that first brought me to you. You can read it, if you want, but know that I won’t hold the story against you. You were drunk, and we both know that’s just playing dirty…contrary to the past bit of evidence, that’s not actually how I get things done. So I’m going to hold this story for however long you want. Even if that means it never gets published. I promise._

_I really wish you the best in whatever you choose in life. I know you’ll be amazing at it._

_Have a safe flight._

_Love,_

_Steve_

He slipped the note under the photograph, and on top of the printed version of the article, setting it all back down in front of Bucky. Taking a detour through his bathroom, first to relieve himself, Steve searched the medicine cabinet and successfully found the bottle of Ibuprophen. Grabbing a couple of the pills, Steve walked back to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, and then set both the pills and water next to the article on the table.

With his work done, Steve knew he couldn’t keep stalling. As much as he wanted to see Bucky wake up, sleep-mused and loose, Steve knew he shouldn’t make this goodbye harder than it already was. So with a fortified breath, Steve grabbed his phone and keys from where’d tossed them onto the kitchen bar, and walked out the door.

*

For a Saturday morning, the streets were pretty empty.

Granted, autumn was starting to come in full force, and with it, a ridiculous chill, but Steve knew most runners liked that and would be coming out soon. Either way, it felt good to have the fresh morning air hit his face as he strode down the sidewalk.

He considered walking all the way home, but figured he’d rather spend the time running in his neighborhood, so Steve ended up going down the stairs to the subway station and taking the 2 train home. Each stop let on more and more people onto the car, and by the time he got off at his station, the usual crowd had formed.

Steve left the bustle of people behind as he ascended up the stairs, hit once again by the cold air. It only took a few more minutes before he was walking through the doors of his apartment building, waving at his sleepy doorman and slumping in on himself when he got into the elevator.

Walking into his apartment was depressing.

The lights were off, but the morning light coming in through the windows was enough to illuminate the whole place. Not even bothering to turn on the lights, Steve walked straight to his bedroom and changed his clothes, needing to soothe the itch to move after the night he’d had, and the tight feeling in the subway. He knew he couldn’t spend another day alone in his apartment, so he left again, fully intending on running until he couldn’t anymore.

*

His lungs hurt as he panted through yet another lap of around the reservoir. His legs were burning something fierce, enough that Steve knew he should probably start to slow down a bit. He’d been at it for hours, and he’d already drank all of his water.

Turning onto a path that led him out of the Park, Steve didn’t stop running until his feet hit pavement. From there, he took his time walking all the way back to his apartment. He thought about last night, and Bucky, and realized he didn’t know the time of Bucky’s flight. Watching the sun creep higher in the sky, he figured Bucky would have left by now. Checking his phone, he saw there weren’t any messages, so he tucked it away and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to grasp onto any fading remnants of his headspace while running.

It didn’t work too well.

Back in his apartment, Steve stripped and showered quickly, grabbing an apple when his stomach protested too much. Again, he didn’t feel like staying in his apartment so he left again, feeling almost like a ghost. He felt aimless and restless, somehow, and curious as to how the hell he still had the energy to keep going with no sleep, and hours of exercise behind him.

Steve wondered that if he actually gave himself a moment to relax whether he’d shut down completely and sleep forever, but something kept him going. He didn’t even know where he was wandering to until he found himself standing in front of Sam’s brownstone. Checking the time, Steve knew Sam would be up, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be home.

Only one way to find out; Steve rang the bell.

Sam opened the door, his face sliding into pleasant surprise when he saw Steve, and then quickly changing into concern as he realized Steve hadn’t exactly given him much warning.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Sam asked cautiously.

Steve gave him a tired smile. “Is it tomorrow, yet?”

It took a moment for Sam to understand what Steve meant, and then he smiled too, opening the door wider for Steve go through. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Come in.”

Steve walked in, turning right to go into the living room, and settled himself on Sam’s couch. Sam closed the door behind him and sat himself down in the loveseat perpendicular to Steve.

“Are you going to spill the beans, or are we going to sit here in stoic silence for a while? I got some cookies baking, so there’s only so much stoicism I can handle before the timer’s going to go off.” Sam remarked affably. It made Steve smile more genuinely; Sam had a way of making things easier around him.

“It’s nothing, Sam. Just needed some company.” Steve remarked, knowing by Sam’s raised eyebrow that his evasion wasn’t going to work.

“Uh-huh.” Sam responded flatly. He waved a hand pointedly, “Nice try. Do go on. You have about ten minutes before the cookies are done. Earn it.”

Steve couldn’t help the small chuckle, and suddenly his chest didn’t feel so tight anymore.

“I spent the night at Bucky’s.”

If Sam was surprised by that admission, he didn’t show it, simply looking mildly curious for Steve’s whole story. So he continued.

“He was drunk, and…sad.” Steve didn’t feel like it was his place to talk about Bucky’s chronic phantom pain, so he glossed over it. He knew Sam caught on that Steve was skipping over something, but he didn’t push. “I offered some comfort, and he told me his story. The whole story.”

He broke off there, thinking again about it, and Sam spoke up. “What, the volcano story? The one you’ve been after?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded.

Sam let out a long exhale. “Talk about the long game to get a story.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Sam, but Sam was grinning, clearly no heat behind his statement, and Steve relaxed again, grateful for the teasing. He didn’t want to be coddled.

“So? Was it worth it?” Sam asked, curious.

Steve thought about the past couple months, getting to know Bucky, his little quirks, the way he sighed when Steve touched him just right, holding him in his arms, the smell of him, the way he’d rub the back of his neck when self-conscious, the weight he seemed to put on in the little time Steve knew him— no longer looking too skinny, the messy way his hair would fall out of his bun, the soft half-smiles he’d give when he heard something he liked, the way he’d stick his tongue out in concentration when he was trying to think of something, the slightly surprised look on his face when he came, as if not believing he could feel that good, his obsession with chocolate. The trust and love that was utterly apparent without words.

Steve’s heart felt too swollen with love, like he could suffocate under its weight and not even care. The admiration he held for the strongest, bravest man he’d ever met. The utter awe he felt just thinking about how he’d been privileged to hear Bucky’s story, his life, his ambitions and his fears. The secrets he’d held dear, and the hopes he wished for.

If Steve could, he’d do it all over again, just to have had Bucky in his life, no matter how short a time it had been. He would fall in love over and over again until the end of time, suffering the heartbreak of his absence, if only he could hold him and kiss him one last time.

Shakily, Steve whispered, “Yes.”

Sam considered him for a moment. “Yeah, yeah you would say that.”

Steve looked over to see Sam watching him. He offered a shaky smile, and Sam rolled his eyes, the way he did when Steve was being particularly obtuse.

“How about some cookies and milk, and we take it easy? Yeah?” Sam offered rhetorically, getting up and walking over to the kitchen. Steve didn’t hear the timer go off, but he figured they must have been nearly done if the delicious, warm smell wafting towards the living room was any indication.

With a sigh, Steve bent over and took off his shoes, setting them aside, and then leaned back against the cushions of the couch, letting him get swallowed up. He forced himself to finally breathe easily and relax, letting the whole night finally catch up to him.

He must have zoned out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, Sam was setting a plate full of chocolate chip cookies next to him on the couch, and holding out a mug of milk.

“Thanks.” Steve murmured as he accepted the mug, surprising himself at how tired he sounded. Sam looked half-amused and pushed the plate closer to Steve, silently inviting Steve to take a cookie. Steve obliged and the first bite melted in his mouth, making him moan out loud at the rich taste.

“Yeah, that’s my momma’s recipe.” Sam mentioned as he walked up to a shelf that held DVD’s.

“I thank your mother.” Steve garbled around a hot mouthful.

“Manners, Rogers. Jesus, were you raised by wolves?”

That garnered a snort from Steve. He watched lazily as Sam chose a DVD and went about the task of putting it in the player and setting up the TV. Within moments, the menu for _Dragonheart_ popped up, the old graphics hilariously outdated.

“Really?” Steve asked, his mouth full of his second cookie. He took a drink to help swallow, ignoring Sam’s look of disgust.

“Yes, really. You don’t wanna watch it, get out.”

Steve bristled good-humoredly, “I didn’t say that.”

With that, the both of them settled down to watch the cheesy movie, and suddenly, Steve understood why Sam had picked the movie. It was inoffensive, silly, and exactly what Steve needed as he stuffed himself full of cookies and milk.

It only took a few minutes into the movie before Steve was fighting to keep his eyes open. He’d finally swallowed the rest of his cookie before he felt Sam carefully tugging the mug out of Steve’s hand. He had half a mind to tell Sam he wouldn’t have dropped it, but he was just too tired to formulate the right words in the right order.

When his head lolled to the side, he fuzzily thought that maybe there might have been a chance he could have dropped it, and he was begrudgingly glad Sam had grabbed it.

That was the last coherent thought Steve had before he fell into a series of dreams that featured daring dragons and silly choreographed fights.

*

Steve slept most of the day away, camping out on Sam’s couch. At one point, Sam had tossed a blanket on top of Steve, something he was stupidly grateful for, and had snuggled into it, curling himself into a more comfortable ball when Sam had kindly pushed him to lie down. He didn’t really wake up until the sun was just past down, evening creeping in, and by then he figured it was probably more because of the smell of delicious cooking permeating the whole house.

Slowly sitting up, Steve kept the blanket childishly wrapped around him as he scrubbed his face, wiping away grit from his eyes and letting out a huge yawn. He could hear soft music coming from the kitchen, with Sam singing along, equally quietly.

He sat there, letting the cooking smells and gentle music wash over him as he took in his surroundings; the TV was turned off, the blue glow from the player proclaiming it was a quarter past seven, the living room was casting shadows as the light dimmed, the only lights on coming from the kitchen. With a fortified breath, Steve made to get up and join Sam, but a sudden vibration made him startle and yelp.

“You alright in there?” Sam called out as Steve fumbled around to find his phone, finally fishing it out from his pocket.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, “It’s just my…” He trailed off when he saw the caller ID.

Sam poked his head in the room.

“It’s…” Steve could only stare down at his phone. “It’s Bucky.”

“Well, pick it up, dumbass.”

Steve inhaled sharply, all traces of sleep evaporating immediately as he kicked his ass into second gear.

Right.

 _Right_.

Steve swiped his thumb left towards the green call button and tucked the phone against his ear.

“Hey.” He was going for casual, and was certain he missed by miles.

“ _Hi, Steve_.” Just hearing Bucky’s voice again was making Steve’s stomach do flips.

“Didja…um, did you have a good flight?”

Bucky coughed on the other side. “ _Umm, yeah. It was. It was nice. I’m actually at the airport right now, just got off the plane._ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _I, uh, I read something. While on the plane. It was a pretty interesting article_.”

“Yeah?” Steve repeated, feeling ridiculous, like he was tripping over his own two feet even though he was sitting down. Glancing up, he realized that Sam had retreated back to the kitchen, giving Steve some semblance of privacy. Steve wondered if he was just listening around the corner, because the music had been turned off.

“ _Yeah. I wasn’t going to read it. I saw it, and just, uh. Tucked in my backpack. But then…I had to read it. And um. I liked it. I liked it a lot_.”

Steve rubbed his eyes hard. “I’m— I’m real happy, Buck. Happy you read it.”

Bucky made an incomprehensible noise before rushing out, “ _I, uh, I just wanted to call. And tell you…um, you should go ahead and print it. It’s really good. And also…_ ”

He trailed off, and Steve heard him take a big breath. “ _Also I wanted to tell you that I thought about it, and um. I know I just got here, but I’m coming back. I’m taking the next flight back to New York. I called Coulson, and he gave me the go-ahead, and yeah. I’m transferring to the National Geographic headquarters back there. It’s uh, it’s actually in Manhattan, not that far  from your apartment, I didn’t know that._ ”

“Bucky…” Steve trailed off, speechless. “Are you serious? This is happening?”

This time, he could _hear_ the way Bucky smiled, the shaky way his voice fumbled out. “ _Yeah, Steve. I thought about it on the flight. It can work. I can make it work. We can make it work. And anyway,_ ” He paused to chuckle, “ _this way, I’ll get to see Natasha more often anyway, since she lives in the city._ ”

Steve could help but laugh, slightly too hysterical to pass as casual. “Yeah, yeah. That’s, uh, the only reason you’re coming back.” He swiped at his nose, realizing too late that it was runny.

Bucky laughed too, a wet sound. “ _That’s not the only reason. I still need to find out if Matt, the guy that took care of my neighbor’s place, remember?_ ”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah, apparently he’s house-sitting again, and I gotta find out if he ever found out about the dildos. Remember the ones hanging around?_ ”

Laughter bubbled out of Steve, an infectious thing that had Bucky laughing helplessly too, the both of them desperately trying not to cry and failing.

Their laughter slipped into sniffles, and they took a moment to just listen to the other breathe on the other line.

“ _Steve_.” Bucky started.

Steve gave a _mmhmm_ , not trusting his voice just yet.

“ _I’ll be home soon_.”

A fresh wave of relief and tears threatened to consume Steve, but he managed to choke out, happily, “I’ll be waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw they figured it out all by themselves! 
> 
> Coming up next: The Epilogue :D


	11. Author Can't Decide Story Ending; Writes Endless Epilogues Until TV Show Takes Matters Into Their Own Hands

They were both in bed, their favorite place.

Bucky was sitting on the edge, one leg tucked underneath his thighs as he clutched the sealed envelope in his hand. He’d been staring down at it for the past ten minutes, since he picked it out from the stack of mail he’d brought in earlier.

Steve just grinned at his nervous antics, placing kiss after kiss on his bare back; it was finally starting to warm up enough that they could shed clothes more often. Steve smiled, thinking about how Bucky had been slowly getting more and more confident about going shirtless around Steve most days, relaxing bit by bit the more Steve lavished tactile praises against his skin. His scars stood out particularly against the pale skin, the result of the sun hiding all winter, but Steve had been dropping hints about going to the beach, hoping he could convince Bucky to tan a little bit. The sun would be so good for him.

In between pressing his lips against warm skin, Steve told him plainly, “Just open it. Waiting is just going to keep killing you, you know that.” He wrapped his hands around Bucky’s middle more tightly, offering him silent support. He squeezed his legs on either side of Bucky’s, clutching him with his whole body for a second and then relaxing again, going back to placing lazy kisses on his back and neck, wrinkling his nose when Bucky’s hair tickled him.

“Yeah, I’m going to.” Bucky agreed readily. Despite his prompt answer, he still refused to open it, though. “I’m just appreciating your support right now. Ain’t no harm in dragging that out.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He was nothing if not an enabler to anything Bucky wanted, so he just kept up with his soothing methods of placing kiss after kiss on his skin. He squeezed again, pulling Bucky against his body more firmly. There was no barrier of shirts between them, but even if there had been, Steve was sure he would have still been able to feel Bucky’s heartbeat— too fast and hard with anxiety.

Letting out an amused sigh, Steve changed tactics, instead reaching out to tug the letter from Bucky’s hand, ignoring his initial startled noise. He set it down next to them and slid back further into the bed, pulling Bucky with him and turning him around.

“Hey, no— wait…” Bucky half-heartedly protested, trailing off as he let himself get manhandled, finding himself face to face with Steve. His slight frown of concern eased out as he smiled into the kisses Steve gave him.

Bucky reached up to hold onto Steve’s shoulder, reciprocating at first, and then letting Steve take the lead. Steve shifted the both of them until he had Bucky straddling his lap, the both of them making out lazily, and Steve ran his hands all over Bucky, massaging into tight muscles and skimming over loose ones to raise goosebumps.

After a while, Steve felt Bucky truly relaxing, his tension melting away as he got caught up with focusing on Steve rather than the letter. He kept him there, safe in his arms, for a little bit longer, prolonging the easy thing between them, and then pulled back slightly to let Bucky slump against him. Steve grinned at the way Bucky was disheveled and panting slightly, out of it a bit.

He kept sliding his hands up and down Bucky’s back, smoothing out to just gentle caresses, before finally asking, “You ready, yet?”

Bucky automatically mumbled out, “No.”

Steve snorted and then Bucky begrudgingly amended his answer to, “Yes.”

Reaching out blindly, Steve grabbed the letter as Bucky pushed himself upright and sat back a bit, still within the comfort of Steve’s legs bracketing him. Once he made himself comfortable, Steve pushed the letter carefully into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky looked down at it, rubbing his thumb against the glossy address. With a breath, Bucky looked up at Steve and gave the letter back, asking, “Can you open it for me?”

He waggled his fingers to indicate he’d rather not mangle this particular envelope the way he usually did when he opened up his mail.

Steve just took it back without a word, leaning in to press a kiss against Bucky’s cheek before sliding the envelope open in one smooth move. He tugged the letter out, and handed it still-folded back to Bucky.

Bucky held it in his hand, stilling, and then took a big breath before finally flipping it over and unfolding it.

Steve watched the way Bucky quickly scanned it, expression freezing.

Steve’s heart started to sink; fuck, had he misjudged everything? He had been so goddamnned confident that Bucky was going to get it— there hadn’t even been room for doubt in his mind. Shit, now he had to switch gears, get ready to comfort Bucky, and this was so disappointing— how could this have happened?— it didn’t make sense—

Suddenly, Steve registered that Bucky had started reading it out loud and—

“‘—are thrilled to inform Mr. Barnes that his submission of photography for the Pulitzer Prize has been accepted. This nomination is considered an—’ Steve.” Bucky cut himself off.

 Steve’s face started to hurt with how widely his grin was stretched. “You did it.”

“I did it.” Bucky repeated, dumbstruck.

Suddenly they were both cheering, and whooping, giddy as they bounced on the bed.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Bucky exclaimed, embracing Steve tightly.

“You did it!” Steve couldn’t help saying over and over again.

It was as they hugged that a sound of crackling paper made them pause.

“Shit, fuck,” Bucky cursed, pulling back to try and smooth out the letter he’d accidentally crunched in his hand.

The both of them dissolved into giggles as Bucky spread his fingers out, smoothing it against the bed sheets, and generally making it worse.

“Fuck, I wanted to frame it. Put it next to your article.” He got out between giggles.

Steve took letter from under Bucky’s hand, reaching over to put it on the bedside table and smoothed it out using the edge of one of the books laying on there.

“Wait, seriously?” Steve asked when Bucky's declaration finally sank in, feeling touched. “I’m so… honored.” Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, which he ignored, going on, “God, Buck, I’m just so fucking _proud_ of you. I knew you would get it.”

Bucky grinned, pushing at Steve good-naturedly as he reminded him, “It’s just a nomination, Steve. I haven’t won anything yet.”

Steve abandoned the letter, setting the book on top of it to help weigh it down, and turned back towards Bucky. “I don’t care,” he told him as he reached out for Bucky, “you’re my winner, and I’m so goddamn proud.”

Bucky snorted and let himself get pulled back into Steve’s arms.

“Seriously, Buck, I am. I’m proud of everything, from this picture— that you fucking deserve an award for, by the way— to your most recent series, to figuring out how to photograph, fucking _one-handed_ , to, to, god, just to everything!” Steve exclaimed, wanting to shout to the world how amazing his lover was.

“God, it’s fucking awful how cheesy you are.” Bucky deadpanned, but the smile he hid in Steve’s chest suggested he was basking in all the praise. Steve could feel the high blush creeping across Bucky’s face.

“I know it’s cheesy, but I think you’re _grate_.”

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes and burrowing deeper against Steve’s chest. His, “I hate you,” was muffled and light.

“Hmm, all lies.” Steve sank his fingers in Bucky’s hair, gently pulling him away from the safety of his burrow, and pulled him into a kiss. Bucky kissed him back eagerly.

Breaking away, he said, “Yeah, yeah. All lies. Turns out I do love you.”

“Well, that’s good. Seeing as I love you too.” Steve replied, kissing him one more time before lying back to settle the both of them down on the bed. Bucky ended up laying completely on Steve, his hand coming up to curl around Steve’s shoulder.

With mindless caresses up and down Bucky’s back, Steve felt a wave of calm happiness come over the two of them, their own little bubble of life held suspended between them. They breathed together, letting their heart rates try to match.

Bucky turned his head and tipped his chin in the direction of the wall. Turning to follow his gaze, Steve realized he was looking at the framed Buzzfeed article Steve had written all those months ago. He’d edited a bit since then for publication, but the bare essence of it stayed the same. In hindsight, it seemed so much smaller than when he’d first written it, and it seemed ridiculous that such a short article had kept him up all night. That such a small thing would end up becoming such a huge deal.

But it truly was a big deal. This small thing embodied so much more than mere words. It was the true story, the _real_ story, and the accompanying photograph was the reason they were all there, published for the first time.

And now the photograph was in line for such an incredible opportunity.

“I still can’t believe you let me publish your picture. You chose Buzzfeed over National Geographic. That’s insane.”

Steve had rehashed his astonishment so many times that Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “I chose _you_. It only felt right, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” He sank his teeth in a mock bite on Steve’s neck, kissing it afterwards before turning back to look at the wall, ignoring Steve’s indignant huff.

“And just think, it’s going to look so nice, putting the letter next to it. Like a tidy little sequel to our story on paper.” Steve looked back at the wall, imagining it.

Steve felt him smile, could hear it in his voice, and it just made him grin in return.

He wrapped his arms tighter, holding him in a hug.

“It is going to look nice, but we’re not done with our story yet.”

Bucky raised himself up to look down at Steve, grinning madly. “No, no we’re not. We’ve only just started.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought "Oh, I'll just make a fake Buzzfeed article, it'll be awesome and totally won't be hard" then you're lying to yourself. It's hard. So hard, when you know nothing about HTML or a myriad of other things you didn't realize you needed. I have such mad respect for the real artists out there doing this everyday. 
> 
> I just want to thank every single person who has read, kudo'd, and commented on this little journey. I appreciate all of you so much more than you can know <3
> 
> Endless gratitude again to those that helped make this story what it became. I love you all so much!!!!


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